Nothing About This Is Ideal
by defying3reason
Summary: The Piper still isn't exactly fitting in with his fellow Central City costumed criminals, but he is making an effort. After being pegged as the "nice" Rogue, Hartley winds up in charge of Captain Boomerang's accidental hostage. And Hartley isn't attracted to the hostage at all. Because that would be bad. Even if he weren't an off-duty cop, it would be all kinds of bad
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: __ So I'm going to come right out and say this: I'm not super strong on the New 52 and it's not my favorite. The Preboot universe is totally my home and that will probably show. I'm just super intrigued by Piper and David's relationship and I wanted to try them out. So sorry in advance for any and all inevitable goofs I make as I work on this fic. I love trying to stay close to the canon when I write, but I will most likely eff up something terrible while adapting the New 52. _

_It'll probably be fun anyway...? Maybe think of it as an accidental crossover with the Preboot universe ;)_

* * *

Hartley strode into the decrepit warehouse that was being used as the Rogues' latest base of operations with half an intention of walking right back out again. Whereas he was intrigued by the camaraderie the costumed criminals of his city seemed to feel for each other, the few times the Pied Piper had tried to socialize with the other Rogues so far had ended disastrously for him. It seemed like Hartley fit in as well with costumed thugs as he had with lunchroom cliques in high school.

Still though. He wanted to give them a chance. Maybe time would help (and if nothing else, having contacts for work was a necessary part of these kinds of jobs).

He was holding a bag of liquor he didn't intend to drink as a peace offering. Last week he'd bruised his knuckles on Captain Boomerang's face when the asshole had called him a faggot. The memory of his first successfully thrown punch would continue to please him, but Hartley still felt that it was bad form to assault a potential coworker. Digger was possibly the most enthusiastic drinker of the gaggle of blatant alcoholics, so booze seemed like an appropriate apology.

Really, he was lucky the man had already been drunk during their confrontation. Hartley wasn't a physical fighter. He was a plotter and a tech kid. His heists had all been elaborately planned to keep him from having to actually punch anybody, ever. If Cold hadn't stepped between them and Boomerang had managed to get to his feet and fight back, Hartley wouldn't have the illusion that he could fight earning him an odd kind of respect from the other Rogues. He'd need to be careful to preserve that misconception.

Hartley got past a mountain of boxes by the entryway that obscured the dimly lit portion of the warehouse they were using for planning sessions and social activities. He was expecting to see a crowd of burly, unwashed men in ridiculous suits slouched around a poker table with junk food and cheap beer.

It looked like that was might have been how the evening began, but the chairs around the poker table were empty and the burly, unwashed men were only three in number, and those three were pacing around the room in states of agitation while snapping at each other.

Hartley set his burden down on the table and then grabbed Mick's arm. "What's going on?"

"What's going on is we're gonna fucking kill Digger, that's what's going on!" Mick yelled. He waved his arm first at the TV, which was running a news report on a botched bank robbery in downtown Central, and then indicated a folding chair off in the shadows.

Upon closer inspection, the folding chair was being used by a groggy, semi-conscious and bloodied man.

The news report wasn't currently giving a clue about the man's identity, so Hartley turned back to Mick. "Boomerang took a hostage?"

"Yeah, a fucking cop!"

"What?"

"I didn't know he was a cop!" Digger yelled defensively. "How the hell was I supposed to know that? He just said to take him and let everyone else go and I did! How was I supposed to know that off-duty cops look like everyone else?"

Hartley smacked a hand to his forehead and questioned once more whether he _actually_ wanted to continue networking with these people.

"We need to get rid of him," Cold growled. "Do you know how much heat kidnapping a god damned _cop_ is going to bring down on us?"

"You've only been yelling about it for the past twenty minutes or so, so yeah, I'm starting to get an idea!" Digger yelled back. "I'm not stupid!"

"Oh, I'd beg to differ," Mick muttered darkly.

"Um…guys, why don't you just let him go?" Hartley asked. "I mean, Digger made his escape and it's not like we were going to keep using this place for our meet-ups forever anyway."

"We can't just let him go," Digger said with a sneer. "Then the next time I need a hostage no one'd take me seriously. They wouldn't believe I'd actually do the bastard in and I'd get collared. Use your sense, you useless fucking nance."

Hartley leveled a glare at him. "So what's your brilliant plan? Are you going to try to ransom him then?"

"This isn't a fucking movie, Hart, and besides, I'd say it's fairly obvious the word 'plan' doesn't enter into this conversation," Cold said. "If Digger knew how to plan, he wouldn't be in this mess."

No one missed the significance of that wording.

"Wait, you guys are gonna help me out, aren't you?" Digger asked.

Cold zipped his parka up and started for the door. "You got yourself into this mess, Harkness. Get yourself out. This fuck up doesn't concern the Rogues."

Mick seemed to like that train of thought, because he was on Len's heels and out the door in a heartbeat.

Digger started clawing at his hair while he paced around the room. "Fuck, fuck, _fuck_! What do I do now?"

Hartley took one look at the panicking, heavily armed idiot losing his shit in the isolated warehouse and then threw a mental curse at Len and Mick. How could they leave Boomerang alone with a hostage when he was like this? If that police officer got hurt it wouldn't matter that Digger acted alone. The full force of the Central City and the Keystone PD were going to come down on all costumed lawbreakers, and they'd have the scarlet dildo's help.

"Digger, calm down. Just take a few deep breaths-" Hartley reached out to touch Digger's arm but he jerked away and grabbed one of his razor boomerangs, poised to lash out at Hartley.

"Don't you fucking touch me, you god damned faggot! I'll rip your fucking throat out!"

Hartley held up his hands and took a cautious step back. "You need to stop and calm down. Digger, you're going to need a clear head to get out of this."

"What do you fucking care?" Digger spat.

"I still think the best thing you can do is to let the man go. You've got enough of a reputation that letting one hostage go after you've already made use of him won't damage the credibility of your threats in the future. You've…you've already done plenty of awful things." Hartley wasn't quite able to spin that into a compliment since he personally found the levels Captain Boomerang would stoop to during a heist disgusting. It was different from the calculated actions Cold might take when backed in a corner, or the way Mick might lose control if he got a little too into the fire to keep thinking clearly. Sometimes Digger was just cruel.

Digger lowered the boomerang. "Y'know what? I'm gonna follow Snart's lead on this. You care so damn much about the pig, he's _your_ problem now. I'm leaving."

"What? Oh hell no. Just because I don't want you to kill that man doesn't mean I'm going to clean up your fucking mess!"

But Digger made good on his threat and stomped out the door. He even took the beer with him.

Hartley ran an agitated hand through his hair and let out a string of curses. His anger only lasted a few minutes before a cold feeling of resignation replaced it. He was used to being dismissed by people at this point in his life and besides that, it's not like it was all that difficult to break out of Iron Heights.

The poor cop let out a groan and Hartley suddenly remembered that he ought to be thinking of the man as a person and not just a burden. It wasn't his fault he was in this mess, unless one wanted to hold his heroic sacrifice against him. Personally, Hartley was content to put all the blame on Digger for being an incompetent super criminal. What kind of douchebag had to resort to taking hostages during a simple bank robbery?

Hartley switched off the TV then approached the shadowy corner. He crouched down in front of the man so that they were eye level, which didn't really help much since he was slumped over with his head down. It looked like he'd taken quite the beating from his captors. If Hartley had to guess he'd say the brunt of the injuries came after the Rogues had realized he was an off duty cop. He'd been bound to the chair and it didn't look like he'd been able to defend himself even minimally from the beating, so it must have happened once he'd already been a hostage.

What a bunch of assholes.

"Hey," Hartley whispered, keeping his voice low under the assumption the poor guy's head must have been throbbing. "I'm going to pull you into the light so I can get a better look at you. One of the advantages of working with Captain Cold is that ice is always readily available, and it looks like you could probably use some on those bruises."

The man let out a groan, which Hartley decided to take as an assent. He'd liked to have been gentler getting the chair closer to the center of the room, but the hostage was all dead weight, and that dead weight was tall and well-built. After much straining on his part and an awful lot of jostling and scraping for the poor hostage, Hartley managed to get him into the light.

To his great displeasure, he discovered that his hostage was fucking gorgeous. Which was actually kind of impressive, considering how beat up he was. Somehow, in the process of taking a very real beating from grown men in a state of panic this guy had come out looking Hollywood beat up. His thick dark hair was falling attractively over his eyes, and even the way the blood was smearing down his face looked artful.

"Wow," Hartley breathed. He gave himself a little shake, then set about cleaning the guy's cuts. He gently touched a rag with a block of ice in it against the nastiest looking of the bruises. The improvised icepack seemed to revive the guy a little.

He jerked his head up and peered at Hartley out of suspicious (and dreamy) brown eyes, once of which was badly obscured by puffy bruised skin. "Who…what are you?"

Piper lowered the icepack. "What do you mean what?"

The man squeezed his eyes shut in a grimace. "Sorry. Head's cloudy. I just had a delusion you were an ang-that is, never mind. You're one of them, aren't you? The guy with the sonic guns and the weird flutes."

Hartley tried not to smile too widely at what the man had let slip and ended up with a pleased smirk instead. So he looked like an angel, did he? That was kind of cute.

Oh, he really didn't want to end up liking a cop, even if the man was adorable.

"Yeah, that's me. The Piper."

"Ah. I'd heard you were more compassionate than your typical costumed whack job. Thank you. Can you ice my collarbone for a minute? I think it might be broken."

"Those fucking idiots," Hartley grumbled. He undid the top few buttons of the man's shirt and pulled it back. His comparatively dark skin (Hartley being a translucently pale WASP and all) was marred by horrendous looking bruises and it looked like he might have been burned in a few spots, which upset Hartley because so far he'd been under the impression that Mick hadn't joined in on beating up the helpless, handcuffed cop. He also tried to ignore the fact that under different circumstances that was exactly the kind of chest he'd like to trace with his fingertips and that was definitely a collarbone worthy of worship and love bites.

Why couldn't Digger have grabbed an ugly hostage?

Hartley was as gentle as he could placing the ice against the tender looking flesh but the man still gasped and bit into his lip, trying to suppress his reaction to what must have been some pretty awful pain. "Sorry, sorry!"

"No, don't move it. The ice feels better, I swear."

"O-okay. Um…look, you really need medical help. I'm going to get you to a hospital, okay?"

The grimace gave way to a look of equally pained looking confusion. "Why aren't I dead?"

"Mostly because you're a cop, I suppose. I mean, it has nothing to do with me. I got stuck with you because I don't kill anyone, ever, and the rest of the guys bend the rules a bit when they panic. But they don't want to be cop killers."

"Is that how the media is reporting it?"

"Huh? I-I guess." Hartley frowned. "Aren't you a cop?"

"Kind of. I'm a tech in the crime lab."

Hartley gaped at him for a moment and then quickly dropped his gaze to his hands and only his own hands where they were pressing a rag-covered block of ice against a yummy looking chest that hinted at washboard abs (though sadly there was no reason to undo more buttons to confirm his suspicion that his sexy-hostage was beautifully toned all over). Being a scientist didn't make him any less sexy to Hartley, who was a devout nerd and never managed to stay attracted to a man, however gorgeous, unless he had an equally sexy brain to complement his looks.

Those standards probably had something to do with the long ass dry spells between his relationships. That and it was hard to maintain a relationship when you were a supervillain.

"I'm going to head out to my car for a second. I've got some of my gear out there. I'll get those handcuffs off and then we'll get you to a hospital, okay?"

The man didn't answer, but only watched him go with an incredulous look. Hartley figured he was still a little loopy, which he had every right to be, all things considered.

It took Hartley seconds to unlock the cuffs with a bit of wire, which seemed to amuse his hostage. "You're the one who breaks out of Iron Heights all the time, aren't you?"

"We all break out of Iron Heights," Hartley reminded him. He just happened to be the best at it.

"Hm. Well if you ever felt like switching sides, we could certainly use your expertise to engineer a better pair of handcuffs." He rubbed at his wrists and flexed his fingers, no doubt getting feeling back into his sore appendages. Hartley handed him the soggy icepack and averted his gaze when the man immediately pressed it back over his collarbone. The ice had melted enough for the action to send rivulets of water down the man's chest.

He let out a satisfied sigh, and Hartley genuinely feared he might get wood from helping a stranger who'd been beaten bloody. Which made him all kinds of uncomfortable, but it's not like he was getting turned on from the fact that the guy was in pain! He was just really, really hot.

And he'd thought Hartley was an angel when he was all loopy, which was still stupidly adorable.

And he was a scientist, and scientists are sexy.

"Rathaway, your face is all flushed. Is something the matter?"

"Nothi-you know my name?"

The man blinked at him. "Yes…you're the Pied Piper. I've collected evidence from some of your crime scenes."

"O-oh." That's right. Public record, multiple arrests, and the man was a police scientist. Hartley gave himself a little shake. "Sorry. I keep forgetting I'm technically notorious now. But it's weird when people know your name and you don't know theirs."

"Ah. Yes, I could see that."

Hartley waited. His hostage didn't say anything. Hartley let out a sigh, but he was still smirking. "So what's your name?"

"I see no advantage to telling a supervillain more about me than I already have."

"But I'm helping you!" Hartley exclaimed.

"You've said you were going to bring me to the hospital, but you haven't yet. I still have no real reason to trust you, Rathaway. Even though you do seem to be a better man than a lot of your peers."

Hartley rolled his eyes. "I said I'm going to bring you to the hospital and I mean it. Now how are you feeling? Can you walk on your own or do you need help?"

"I should be okay." The hostage moved to stand and almost fell over. Hartley caught him and steadied him, keeping an arm braced around his back.

"Just so you know, I'm physically a lot weaker than the other Rogues. You're going to have to bear as much of your own weight as you can for this to work," Hartley ground out.

"Of course," the man said. "Sorry. I had noticed you worked mostly with long range weapons. That'd be the reason?"

"Yes, the skinny tech savvy gay kid spent more time running from fights than engaging in them." Hartley got one of the man's arms slung over his shoulders and started taking slow, purposeful steps towards the car. "Can you carry a little more of your weight? At all?"

"I'm trying. So you're gay?"

"Less chit chat until we're in the car."

"Sorry."

Hartley was panting by the time he got his hostage settled into the front seat. He did the man's seatbelt for him, as quickly as possible so as to minimize the time he spent with his hand hovering over the gorgeous man's lap, and then climbed into the driver's side.

"I didn't realize you were openly gay," the man said, once Hartley had settled himself and started the car.

"I've never really hid it, but I suppose there's not much reason for it to come up while I'm robbing banks. By the by, it's a bit rich of you to ask questions about my sexuality when you won't even tell me your name."

"Fine, I'll tell you my first name. It's Carlos."

"No it's not."

The man smirked. "How'd you know I was lying?"

"Because you're not Hispanic. I mean, I suppose you could be mixed or adopted or something, but just so you know, I'm not one of those oblivious WASPs who think all brown people are the same. You're of southeast Asian descent."

The man looked impressed. "You're right."

"Mm. And with your accent, you either emigrated here when you were incredibly young or you're second or third generation, at least. You're definitely more Asian-American than Asian."

"Right again. You're more observant than I gave you credit for, Rathaway."

"Yeah, I'm more observant than a lot of people give me credit for."

"Mm." The man seemed to belong to that category as well. His eyes rested on a dog-eared book on socialism and sexuality that was on the seat next to him. "You know, there's an LGBT youth support group that used to meet in a church basement in Central. They almost had to shut down because of some ridiculous scandal. A few of the kids attending the meeting were homeless, and when the advisors found out they started letting them sleep in the basement so they wouldn't be on the streets. But the church didn't actually belong to them, they were only using it, and when the clergy found out they were furious."

"Yes, I'd heard about that," Hartley said, tone clipped.

"Well they didn't end up having to close down. They received a mysterious donation. No one can tell where it came from, but it provided them without enough money to purchase and restore their own building for their meetings. They're in the process of turning it into a shelter that specifically caters to LGBT youth. It's a rather remarkable story. We're trying not to look into it too closely, considering the amount of money donated perfectly matches the amount stolen from Rathaway Inc. earlier that week."

"Yeah, how 'bout that."

"A lot of people are saying the Rathaways got their just desserts. Considering their money is most likely providing for homeless gay kids-"

"And they put their own gay kid in that situation themselves, I'm aware," Hartley snapped. "It's not too late for me to change my mind about taking you to the hospital, you know."

The hostage smirked and fell silent. Hartley kept his attention on the road for the next few minutes, but he was quietly simmering over that. He was half-tempted into hypnotizing the man into answering his questions, but that seemed like a petty use for his potentially awful meta-abilities.

"You know," Hartley began again, "it'd be decent of you not to poke at my emotional scars while I'm ostensibly doing you a favor. Not to mention it's just underhanded. I lost what remained of my privacy after my first arrest, and I'd never really had much to begin with growing up as a one-percenter. My life is public record. Making use of that to get under my skin is completely tactless."

"You mean your first arrest in costume," the man said.

Hartley darted a glare at him before turning his attention back to the road. "What are you talking about?"

"You were arrested a few times before you became the Pied Piper, weren't you?"

"Well yeah-"

"And the notoriety didn't really start until you put the costume on."

"Please, it started pretty much when I was born. The tabloids were always hassling my parents. It was just a new level after I became a criminal," Hartley said. Which had been a fun side effect, because Hartley knew that if anyone was more annoyed than him about the amount of personal information on him that had become Google-able as a result of his super crime, it was Osgood Rathaway.

"How do you know so much about me anyway?" Hartley asked. He knew his life was spectacularly public, but he was also pretty sure very few people knew about his non-Piper arrests.

"I work at the police station, Rathaway. I've looked over the arrest records of all of you super criminals."

"Oh." That made sense. And he totally wasn't disappointed that the hot hostage hadn't shown a particular interest in him.

Because that would be weird.

He deserved the longest dry spell ever.

"Okay, we're pretty much here." Hartley pulled up in front of the ER and tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. He wasn't in costume and the plates on his car were clean, but there was still a very good chance he was going to get arrested bringing the hostage inside.

But the man couldn't walk on his own.

Well, there wasn't a better option. He wasn't just going to leave the guy on the curb with a 'good luck.'

The hostage's lovely brown eyes widened when Hartley opened the door for him and helped him with his seatbelt. Hartley held out a hand and the man took it, and leaned heavily on him once more for the long limp into the ER. They didn't say anything, focusing their attention on keeping the hostage on his feet. Hartley got him into one of the chairs in the waiting room and then flagged down a woman in scrubs.

"Hey, that guy there needs help. Can you get someone to take care of him?"

"Are you his healthcare proxy? You're going to have to fill out some paperwork before we can see him." The woman sounded almost bored as she went to get a clipboard full of forms.

Hartley let out an impatient breath. At least he hadn't been recognized. "No, I'm not his healthcare proxy. I don't even know his name."

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "Okay…so what exactly's going on?"

"He's a super criminal and I'm his hostage," the man said. "You should call the police before he gets away."

Hartley lost a few seconds he could have potentially used for his escape spluttering indignantly at his hostage. "Hey! It's not-I'm not even the one who took you hostage! I'm trying to help you!"

"And I appreciate it. I'll testify on your behalf if I'm able to."

"Fuck you!" Hartley flipped him the bird, then started running for the door. He was tackled well before he could reach it, and ten minutes later he was sitting in an examination room strapped into place with medical restraints while five surly looking security guards waited to hand him off to the Central City PD. Apparently his hostage had also filled the staff in on his abilities as an escape artist.

Hartley wanted to be mad, really he did. But mostly he was just intrigued.

He was more determined than ever to find out just who the hell this hostage was.


	2. Chapter 2

Hartley remained in custody long enough to pick up some info about the man he'd left at the ER. No one was willing to tell him anything about the sexy (and traitorous) scientist, of course, but his robot ears came in handy. All the man's coworkers were buzzing about him when they thought Hartley couldn't hear.

It turned out his name was David Singh, and his relationship with his coworkers sounded complicated at best. He was advancing quickly, most likely from talent and brains, because it didn't sound like he was playing politics particularly well. His coworkers certainly respected him, but it didn't sound like they liked him all that much.

Hartley could certainly sympathize there.

Once he had a name he decided he'd learned as much as he cared to for the present. Hartley slipped his cuffs and was out of the holding cell in minutes. He had to use a little hypnosis to make it out of the station, and rather _a lot_ of hypnosis to keep anyone from noticing him strolling down the sidewalks of Central City in an orange jumpsuit.

By the time he made it back to his apartment he was tired and cranky. He collapsed into bed still wearing the jumpsuit. As annoyed as he was from overusing his abilities and the pounding headache that came with the strain, a small part of him was still pleased.

He had a name now. That was a good starting point.

* * *

"You know, I almost wish you were named Carlos. You have the perfect hair for it. Not to mention teeth like a military cemetery. And then the fact that you're an actual scientist…it's almost too perfect."

To his credit, David barely started at being addressed so casually and unexpectedly with a total non sequitur. It must have been particularly startling to hear Hartley's voice, since he most likely expected to be alone in his apartment.

It was a nice place. While waiting for the sexy scientist to get home from work, Hartley had made himself quite cozy on the fancy sectional sofa. He'd snagged a novel from one of David's minimally but carefully stocked bookcases and poured himself a glass of almond milk while he waited.

"I'm lost," David said, sounding mildly impatient.

Hartley set the book down and smiled at him. "It's from a podcast. I do like the name David, by the way. I've been fond of it ever since I was forced to attend Bible camp. David and Jonathan captured my preadolescent imagination."

"I'm not sure that's what your instructors were hoping you'd take from the books of Samuel."

"You've read the Bible? I thought Singh was a Sikh name." Hartley leaned up on his elbows, stretching out his long legs behind him. David looked more irritated than Hartley expected from the bad manners. The stuffy scientist continued fussing around the room as he spoke, setting his shoes neatly on a shoe rack, hanging his jacket on a hook, loosening his tie, and fixing some of throw pillows Hartley had knocked over on the couches. "It's common among other groups as well, and as you observed I am thoroughly American. A passing knowledge of Christianity isn't really that surprising, is it?"

Hartley sat up straight and stretched out his back. He'd been reclining on the couch for almost an hour waiting for David to get home. "I suppose not."

"So you've been spying on me."

Hartley made a pinching motion with his fingers. "A smidge. But really, spying is a pretty strong term for the amount of work I've actually put in here. Googling a few articles on Digger's failed heist and then tracking you down on social media was a breeze. You ought to consider changing the privacy settings on your Facebook account."

Overall he looked rather nonplussed about finding a super criminal lurking in his living room. He was treating Hartley like a slight annoyance at worst, a possible curiosity at best. "Breaking and entering is a far cry from a Google search. This definitely counts as stalking."

"Nonsense. This is just how us costumed types say hello." Hartley flashed a toothy grin at him and gave a little wave. "Hello. Thank you for not calling the police on me."

David's facial expression was a bit tricky to read, but it was most certainly not pleased. Some of Hartley's confidence faltered as the man continued to loom over him instead of joining him on any of the swanky furnishings.

"What are you really doing here, Rathaway?"

"Um…I just wanted to check up on you and make sure you were okay. I'll get going if you're that upset though. The get-well-soon cookies on the counter are from me." He got up and started for the door, well aware that his remark about not calling the police could easily have ended in a 'yet,' but David grabbed his arm when Hartley tried to brush past him.

"I had you arrested and you made me get-well-soon cookies?"

"Bought, not made. We're acquaintances at best. It's far too early for us to be trading home baked goods."

David let go of his arm, eyes narrowed thoughtfully if not exactly suspiciously. "I think you might be the worst supervillain ever."

"Hey!"

David smirked at him, something like fondness shining in his eyes. "You can stay. I do appreciate the fact that you saved my life."

Hartley's stomach gave a funny little flip. Maybe worst supervillain ever wasn't an insult if it came from a cop. But still, the praise wasn't really deserved. "I didn't save your life, David. The Rogues wouldn't have killed you. No one wanted to take the risk of returning you though."

"I'm not convinced Boomerang wouldn't have killed me. He wasn't thinking very clearly by the time you got there. They also might have left me cuffed to that chair god knows where to let me find my own dubious way to safety. You actually escorted me to the hospital-"

"Where you kindly informed everyone I was an escaped supervillain," Hartley said, trying and failing to sound stern. "That was rude."

"It seems like it was a minor inconvenience for you at most. You were free again in, what, twelve hours?"

"That's not the point!" Hartley snapped. "I was in bed with a horrendous migraine for two days afterwards. Hypnotizing all those people into not seeing me so I could get away without any instruments to help me was a horrendous strain. It did actually occur to me that I might be arrested personally escorting you to the medical help you needed, but I thought it was worth it. I wanted to be sure you'd be safe. Way to repay the favor, jerk. No one recognized me. I might have gotten back to my car instead."

"Mm hm. If you're so mad at me then what are you doing here?"

Hartley fell silent, because he couldn't really answer that question, even for himself. Mostly, he was there because he'd wanted to see David again, and try as he might, he couldn't come up with anything more compelling or complicated than that.

David walked into the kitchen and returned after a few minutes with the box of cookies Piper had brought him and two cans of soda. When he sat down next to Hartley on the sofa he let out a small groan, so far the only indication he'd made that his fresh injuries were still giving him pain. He set the box down on the coffee table between them and placed a can of soda next to Hartley's almond milk.

"I've heard really good things about this bakery. It's a small mom and pop place in Keystone," Hartley said.

"I appreciate the thought." David opened the box and selected a peanut butter cookie for himself. He offered the box to Hartley, and he eagerly grabbed the chocolate chunk. "Just so you know, I didn't call the police while I was getting the cookies."

"I'd have heard you." Hartley was glad he mentioned it though, because it hadn't occurred to him that David might make use of some time alone to rat him out again. He'd assumed the man was just moving slow because of his injuries, which seemed to be the case.

"I'm…glad you came. I wanted to see you again too."

Hartley felt his face heat up. With how fair his skin was he was sure David could see it, so he turned away and took a bite of his cookie.

"The other day, when we were talking in your car…I wasn't trying to, how did you put it? Poke at your emotional scars? I'm honestly impressed with the LGBT youth shelter. It's fulfilling a real need for the Gem Cities. And if the funds really did come from you then the only shame is that you couldn't secure them legally. If you hadn't had the falling out with your parents, you'd probably have some sway in the charitable pursuits their company takes on by now."

"Nah, my parents never agreed with my social politics, even before they realized I was gay. They were never going to let me touch Rathaway Inc. I can't even imagine what would have happened if they tried. There would have been a shareholder rebellion and a full scale mutiny, most likely."

David was still holding his cookie but he made no move to eat it. Hartley, meanwhile, was halfway done with his and eyeing a Snickers-based one that looked heavenly.

"Hartley, is there any chance you might reconcile with your family?"

"I get smacked around by a guy in a shiny red suit who can run up the side of a building. Anything's possible, I suppose. But no, it's not terribly likely."

"Ah." David's expression darkened at that. Hartley frowned, and quietly wondered if there was more going on than just sympathy for him being in a sucky situation. He hadn't spoken to his parents in years and was well-reconciled to that reality at this point. It still pained him, of course, but those feelings were held nicely at bay most of the time and only accosted him on rare occasions. Mostly, he'd moved on.

You know, except for when he decided to rob them of immense sums and donate the spoils to charitable endeavors he knew for a fact they'd hate.

"You should eat your cookie. I promise I didn't poison them." Hartley said it as a joke, but David seemed to think he was serious.

"I didn't think you had. You're not that kind of criminal." David fiddled with the cookie for a moment, still not eating it. "Which honestly makes this easier. I feel slightly better about the lack of loyalty I'm showing the Central City PD by not calling you in knowing you're mostly harmless."

"Plus I'd just escape again anyway. You're saving us all headaches by just hanging out with me and eating junk food." Hartley finished off the last of his chocolate chunk and reached for the Snickers one.

"These cookies are the size of a child's head. How do you stay so trim?"

"My job involves lots of cardio."

"Ah. Mine's generally pretty sedentary." David finally took a bite of the cookie and his eyes widened. "Oh. This is good."

"Can I try a piece? I haven't had their peanut butter before."

They ended up breaking off pieces of several of the cookies and sampling them together, rather than finishing entire cookies separately after that. To Hartley's surprise but far from his dismay, David took control of the conversation. He kept it on subjects Hartley was comfortable with, like music and the LGBT youth shelter, but he was definitely in control of the flow of things.

It was incredibly relaxing. Even though the two of them were potentially enemies, they found themselves conversing like friends. Well, more than friends on Hartley's end. He was completely smitten at this point, and pretty okay with it. It's not like his crushes had ever been convenient for him in the past, so why should they start now?

There was one thing he was curious about though. He'd like to know how little of a shot he had with David, exactly. He desperately wanted to know if the man was gay, but so far David had kept the conversation away from personal details. Despite Hartley's Googling and Facebook creeping, David still knew much more about him than he knew about David. He'd been hoping a few conversations might balance things out, but that didn't seem likely. David was intensely private, and he guarded his personal details closely.

Hartley finally decided to just come right out and ask him. "So are you invested in this shelter project because it's a sign of me continuing to be the worst supervillain ever, as you put it, or is your investment more personal?"

David looked a bit perplexed. "I'm glad you're not just wasting all your ill-gotten gains, if that's what you're getting at."

"I'm trying to ask if you're gay."

"Oh."

Hartley quirked an eyebrow. "Well? Are you?"

David's smirk was getting less sexy with each repetition. "Why? Does it matter to you if I am?"

"You're incredibly frustrating, you know that? I wouldn't ask if I didn't want to know the answer."

"Look, Hartley…I've seen the way you've been looking at me." David sat up a little straighter and attempted to make eye contact, but Hartley determinedly looked away. He didn't like the sound of that opening. "I don't see how knowing my sexual orientation would be at all useful to you. It's not like we could possibly date. I take my job far too seriously to risk it on the whims of a confused young supervillain."

"Okay, that's just harsh."

"It's the truth. Or do you actually have some kind of plan for your life that's merely incomprehensible from the sidelines? It looks to me like you're blindly lashing out at those you've perceived to have hurt you."

Hartley stood up. "I came over to hang out with you and give you cookies, not to have my life picked apart."

"I'm sorry if the truth hurts."

"Fuck you! You barely know me. How can you possibly assume to know that much about me?" Hartley snapped, rounding on him.

"Correct me then. Do you have some kind of plan? What are you working towards?"

"I…" Hartley closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Just because I have different priorities from you doesn't mean I'm wasting my life. God, you sound like my fucking father. Look, I'm doing exactly what I want to right now. I'm helping people in my own way. Because it rubs up against societal standards people call me a supervillain and the Flash a superhero, but we're both working outside the bounds of the law. I'm financial redistribution. Considering the suffering created from completely unnecessary income inequality in this country, I'm just as much a hero as that glory hound."

"And you believe that?" David asked, more incredulous than ever.

"Yes, I do. And you're an asshole." Hartley stormed out of the apartment before David could respond.

He was still fuming hours later, when an attempt at tinkering with his gear in his workshop left him with a burned left hand. He'd gotten careless because he was still stewing over David having a poor opinion of him.

And for being right. Saying that he was doing exactly what he wanted with his life was probably the biggest lie Hartley had ever told.

* * *

David was a bit unnerved by his confrontation with Hartley. At first he thought it was for the quite obvious reason that pissing off a supervillain enough to have them storm out calling you an asshole was probably not the wisest course of action one could take. Those people were deranged by definition.

But Rathaway was harmless. At least, he certainly wasn't unhinged and worryingly unstable to the same extent as his other cohorts. And he didn't play with fire, which was rather comforting. David would have been far more nervous if he'd upset the pyromaniac.

It took him a few hours to pin it down, but by the time David was easing himself into bed, ignoring the aches and throbs from his injuries with practiced ease, he realized that he was upset _because_ _he'd_ upset Hartley. He wanted to be irritated with the boy, or at least to keep his distance, but he couldn't help himself. He liked the kid.

Sure, Hartley's methods were an absolute mess and he was more likely to get himself killed than have any lasting impact in the world (David still couldn't believe he was out about his sexual orientation to other supervillains; David didn't even want to come out to cops, let alone ranting, homophobic loons!). Rathaway didn't seem to have much going for him in the way of structured plans or even self-preservation, but there was an earnestness about him that had become quite charming.

Plus the kid was cute. David had been trying to ignore that most of all, but more times than he'd liked he'd found himself recalling pretty blue eyes, brilliant smiles, and cascades of red-gold hair when he'd let his thoughts stray. It had been quite the change, having Hartley fussing over him with an icepack after being wailed on and verbally disparaged by the other Rogues. As soon as he'd gotten his blurring vision to focus on Hartley's face he'd stopped fearing he was going to die.

David glared at the ceiling of his bedroom for a few long minutes. He finally let out a sigh and closed his eyes. "It doesn't matter anymore anyway," he murmured. He'd been an ass, like he always was, so enamored though Rathaway might have been, it wasn't terribly likely he'd come back. Given their very different and highly incompatible lifestyles, he probably wouldn't even see Hartley again, even if there was a good chance he'd end up working on some of his crime scenes.

The thought did nothing to cheer him up, and when he finally fell asleep he ended up dreaming once more of the pretty blue eyes and the red-gold hair.

* * *

"You know, Singh…it's not too late for you to change your mind about using those sick days."

"I'm fine," David snapped, more harshly than he meant to. In truth, sitting upright at his desk for hours at a time was causing him an immense amount of discomfort and he'd come very close to giving in and taking a longer leave to recover from his injuries. His collarbone had indeed been fractured, he had a second degree burn on his chest and another one on his lower back, and then there were all the more mundane aches and bruises. The most dramatic looking injury was the cut on his brow, but that one was only a minor nuisance. Still, that was the one his coworkers tended to look at when they shakily suggested he go home and rest.

The thing was, he wouldn't rest if he went home. He'd drive himself crazy feeling useless while suffering from some pretty severe pain. At least work was a distraction. His body would heal either way; he might as well give his mind something to do in the meantime.

The coworker (David realized with a pang of unease that he didn't actually know the man's name, and they'd been working together for almost three months) stalked back to his own desk, muttering under his breath about uptight workaholics.

Feeling a smidge bad, but not bad enough to address it, David returned his gaze to the casefile he was reading through and tried to keep his focus there. His attention kept drifting towards how stiff his back felt. After rereading the same page three times and taking very little information in, David admitted defeat and decided to take a lunch break. The walk down the street to a café he favored might help…or it might just introduce a new set of pains for his body to endure. He wasn't quite sure which, but even the change of pace offered by a different set of aches sounded welcome to him at that point.

He was just about to get up when Patty walked up to his desk.

David knew the names of exactly three of his coworkers: his boss (obvious reasons), that new kid Allen (because his tardiness and foot-in-mouth speaking abilities were an unceasing source of frustration for someone as business-like and professional as David), and Patty Spivot. He knew Patty because he was damn impressed that the waifish little blonde girl had progressed as far as she had in a belligerently male-dominated field. Patty was an anomaly to him, and an agreeable one at that. She had an eager to please personality that would have gotten many in her place exploited or dismissed, but underneath her friendly smile and easygoing manner Patty had the brains, the drive, and the backbone to be quite the forensic scientist.

David would have liked her even more if she weren't so obviously smitten with a barely-competent goof like Allen, but then he wasn't really in a place to judge at the moment, considering his interest in Hartley Rathaway. At least Allen wasn't a costumed vigilante.

"Hi, David." Patty flashed her pretty smile at him and set a paper bag with handles on his desk. "Someone just dropped this off for you downstairs. Whatever it is, it smells really good."

"Oh. I was just about to go get lunch."

"Looks like someone saved you the trouble. I'm going to be running out for coffee in a little bit. I can just feel a break coming in the Baron case so I want to stay focused on that for now, but I'll probably be taking a walk downtown in about twenty minutes if you want to join me."

David nodded at her, thankful she wasn't treating him like he was made of glass just because he'd been pummeled by a few supervillains, and then looked into his bag.

It did smell good. It contained a take-out container of creamy soup, a fresh roll, and a peanut butter cookie the size of a child's head. There was a small pastel green envelope taped to the top of the soup container. David opened it and took out a matching square of cardstock with a note scribbled on it.

_Sorry I called you an asshole. That was almost as rude as you getting me arrested._

_If I'm not very evil from now on, could we at least be friends?_

It was signed with a quarter note.

David felt a little foolish doing it, but he tucked the note into his wallet for safekeeping. He barely noticed his aches at all while he ate the delicious food, and was in a much better mood by the time he took his walk with Patty.

In fact, he must have been in a really good mood because when she gushed about the Allen kid David wasn't as annoyed as he probably would have been otherwise. He even generously conceded that the guy had a sharp mind despite his unprofessional demeanor. For all David knew, he'd make a perfectly good forensic scientist with a little more experience.

"I think he'll be brilliant," Patty enthused. "I…suppose it's pretty obvious I like him."

"Painfully, yes."

"Oh hell. It must be if even _you've_ noticed my feelings for Barry."

David went to get the door to let them back in the building, but she rushed ahead and grabbed the handle. "Don't even. You're limping. _I'll_ get the doors."

"Fine. And what was that about even me noticing?"

"You don't know half of our officemates names, so if you've picked up on my crush then I must be painfully obvious," Patty said.

He supposed she had a point. Especially since the truth was he didn't actually know half of their coworkers names. "I wouldn't worry too much, Patty. The boy's fairly oblivious. He likely hasn't noticed."

"Oh, I wouldn't mind if Barry noticed. It's the creepers I'm worried about. Let's just say being one of a handful of female employees in this building has its downsides. But, um, I've been…I've been trying to flirt with Barry. I suppose that part hasn't been working?"

David shrugged his shoulders because he barely knew how gay men were supposed to flirt with each other, let alone heterosexuals. He found most women a little baffling. "Are you sure you want to get involved in an office relationship?"

"With how demanding this career is? I think dating someone who understands exactly how important our work is and why it has to take priority over our personal lives nine times out of ten is probably my only hope of ever having a relationship. Besides, I like him."

David couldn't for the life of him figure out why (though he supposed Allen was easy on the eyes) but he chose to let the conversation drop rather than risk offending the one friend he'd made in three years of working with the Central City PD. And he was pretty sure the trifling friendship he shared with Patty had more to do with her forgiving nature overlooking his rough edges than any actual effort on his part.

He managed to stay pretty well focused after the food and the walk (with no small help from the coffee he and Patty had procured), and the rest of the workday was almost even pleasant. His attention occasionally wandered towards Patty and her irritating crush, but every time he started to think of a different young man with blue eyes and fair hair he refocused on his casefile.

Before he went to bed that night, David moved the pastel green piece of cardstock from his wallet to the top drawer of his dresser.

* * *

_A/N: So...I like to slip in minor characters from the canon whenever I can spot an opportunity to do so, and initially I really was going to fill in David and Patty's officemates with actual minor Flash characters, but I started writing this at work when I didn't have access to my comic book collection, and as the chapter progressed I decided I liked the idea of David not even knowing who his coworkers were even better. I think his emotional growth is shaping up to be one of the focuses of this fic.  
Thanks for reading! Hope you liked it :) Chapter three is about halfway written and should be along soon!  
_


	3. Chapter 3

The hallway outside his apartment was quiet, but as soon as David opened his front door he could hear jazz music. It wasn't his music, and he was pretty sure the only objects he owned with speakers were his television and his laptop; the sound quality indicated that the music wasn't being played on anything from his apartment.

David's smile was completely involuntary, but for custom's sake he bit it back as soon as he was aware of it and tried to look nonchalant as he strode into his living room.

"You're making me fat."

"That's a funny way to say hello." Hartley was once more stretched out on the couch, looking perfectly at home and completely nonplussed about his breaking and entering. He was dressed casually; ripped up jeans and an olive green v-necked t-shirt. Most of his hair had been pulled back from his face with an elastic, but quite a few wispy strands of coppery hair were hanging in his face.

David gave a start when he noticed the wad of bandages covering Hartley's left hand. He didn't remember hearing anything about the Piper getting injured in the news, and these days he paid particular attention whenever the Piper came up.

"What did you do to your hand?" David asked. He must have sounded stern instead of concerned, because Hartley looked defensive when he sat up from the graceless sprawl he'd been occupying.

"I was just being stupid while I was modding my tech. It's nothing. Now what was that about me making you fat? A few cookies here and there aren't that big a deal."

"My scale begs to differ." David hung his coat up and put his shoes away, then joined Hartley on the couch. "One would think you'd show more care once you had a blowtorch, or whatever it is you use, in your hands."

Hartley rolled his eyes. "I learned my lesson. I'm the one who got burned, after all. I don't need a lecture about it. So do you really want me to lay off the cookies?"

"If it's not too much trouble. I'm rather enjoying having a secret admirer, but I'd like to be able to fit into the work clothes I already own."

"You're up for that promotion. You'll definitely be able to afford a new wardrobe when you get it."

David supposed he shouldn't have been surprised Hartley was aware he was up for assistant director, considering the boy was stalking him...but since he was also egging the boy on it probably didn't count as stalking anymore.

Sad though it was, unless David was willing to count Patty, Hartley Rathaway was likely his only friend. And he was pretty sure Patty would only count him as an acquaintance in return, not a genuine friend. David's people skills had always left something to be desired, and so far Hartley was one of the few not to be bothered by his aloofness.

There was something comfortable about the bright young supervillain. David felt free to be his cuttingly observant and unintentionally grating self.

"I don't think I count as a secret admirer, David. You know who I am."

"Yes, but my coworkers don't," David said. "They've noticed the lunches and coffees and knick knacks appearing at my desk and made something romantic of it."

"Really?" Hartley looked almost as amused as David felt about the turn of events.

"Mm. I'm the subject of much gossip. Most of it seems to center around how anyone could fall for a cold, uptight workaholic. I'm not terribly popular with my coworkers, you see." He added the last part because Hartley looked so confused, and even a little offended on David's behalf.

"Well you're obviously competitive and you seem allergic to the idea of fun in an office, so I can totally see that, but for them to think no one would like you? I mean, really? You're a sexy scientist. Guys will overlook a lot for looks and brains."

It was the first time Hartley had directly addressed his attraction to David and David was not sure how to handle it. He wanted to keep a cool head, to stay distant, but he couldn't help being surprised and more pleased than he wanted to admit that Hartley thought he was sexy. 'The kid's been ogling you since you met him; of course he's attracted to you,' he reminded himself.

But it was the first time in ages that anyone had called him sexy, and the last guy who'd said it had been somewhat disingenuous.

"Hey, you're all flustered," Hartley observed with a smidge of glee. "So is that legit? Do people honestly not call you out on being a sexy brain?"

"I, ah…haven't socialized much since college."

"That explains loads." Hartley frowned thoughtfully. "Why not? Just married to the job or are you really allergic to fun?"

"Let's talk about something else."

"Fine, but you can't blame me for getting excited. You usually deflect me well before I can ask you a question about yourself. I still don't even know if you're as fond of peanut butter cookies as I'm guessing you are. For all I know I should be getting oatmeal raisin or something curmudgeonly like that."

"I do like oatmeal raisin cookies, actually. I don't find them remotely curmudgeonly."

Hartley gave him a look that very clearly said, 'you _would_ be the kind to like oatmeal raisin.'

"But I like the peanut butter ones too."

"Ah. The more chocolate the better for me."

They sat in a comfortable silence for a moment. David took off his tie and undid the top few buttons of his shirt. He sank a little lower on the couch cushion, closed his eyes, and listened to the music Hartley had put on. It wasn't the kind of music he would have sought out for himself…generally he didn't really listen to much music. But it was nice.

Having company, and the little thoughtful touches Hartley had bestowed on his day to day life, was surprisingly nice. Maybe he did work too hard…he was certainly closing himself off too damn much. If he didn't get his promotion it was probably going to come down to his lack of people skills. Talent was only going to take him so far in his field; eventually he'd have to start playing the politics, even though it was going to kill him to have to babysit for scatterbrained rookies like Allen and…that guy who brought his own lunches in the crinkly bags and left crumbs on his reports,

Shoot. He really needed to learn some of his coworker's names. He'd have no hope of ever being promoted above them if he couldn't even keep their names straight.

"So what have you been up to, Hartley?" David finally asked. He'd been keeping out of the news lately, and David had been curious.

Hartley shot him a sideways look. "Why?"

"It's a generic conversation starter. You can supply some minutiae from your day to day life if you wish, though I wouldn't be upset if you divulged your latest master scheme to me."

"I'm going to be out of work for at least another couple of days." Hartley waved his hand again. "The burn's mostly healed, but I can't play my flutes until the stiffness goes away. I'm just a civilian at the moment."

"There's a warrant out on you."

"Okay, I'm _almost_ a civilian." Hartley grinned cheekily at him. "Does it bother you that much, David? Me being a supervillain?"

"I work for the police department. Of course it bothers me that you're throwing your life away with ridiculous public tantrums." David didn't catch himself quite in time. Based on the look on Hartley's face he'd done plenty of damage with his careless comment, so he bit the bullet and did something he found incredibly difficult, not to mention unappealing.

He apologized.

"I'm sorry. Even though my observations are correct, it's probably not polite of me to keep pointing out how you're needlessly ruining your life."

Okay, he _tried_ to apologize. Hartley did seem to appreciate the effort.

"Let's just talk about something else," Hartley said, doing a fair job imitating David's earlier tone.

"This is actually rather important to me, Hartley. I don't think I can keep seeing you if you're going to insist on being on the wrong side of the law. And I'd like to keep seeing you."

"Really?" Hartley pretended to be very fascinated with picking at a bit of his bandage that had come loose. It did little to hide his emotional response to David's words. "Should I infer that my silly little crush isn't completely one-sided then?"

David was tempted to roll his eyes. With anyone else, he probably would have. "You're very charming and I am apparently susceptible to the influences of a well baked peanut butter cookie. But I still can't date a supervillain."

"Honestly, I'd say it's probably for the best for us supervillains not to date law enforcement types, even if you're a scientist and not a regular cop. If the guys found out, they'd make it difficult."

"So that leaves us in a bit of a dilemma."

"Mm. One of us needs to quit our job."

David looked at him expectantly. Hartley crossed his arms over his chest and returned his stare coolly. "I _like_ my job, David."

"If you think I'm going to quit just because you've sent me some junk food and a few silly love notes-"

"You wouldn't have to give up your entire profession! There are non-cop science jobs out there!"

"I don't even approve of your profession, if you can even call it that."

Hartley let out a deep sigh and scrubbed a hand through his bangs. "This would never work. Opposing fields of employment aside, I don't think we've got much in common besides attraction. We're temperamentally opposed to each other."

"That seems to be the case. I'm difficult to date, from what I've heard. And I've never tried to date someone that much younger than me before."

"David…how old do you think I am?" Hartley asked, tone mildly curious but expressive blue eyes betraying the extent of his interest.

He'd never given it much thought before. The Pied Piper's age had never come up while working a case, but considering the fact that his costumed career struck David as one gigantic cry for attention and that he was still acting out adolescent anger on his parents, David had assumed he was quite young. His careless attitude, casual dress, and messy ponytail only reinforced that. Still, he decided to compliment Hartley and guess a little high. "Twenty?"

Hartley smacked a hand over his mouth. For a second David worried he'd offended him, but then he noticed he was laughing.

"I'm wrong, I take it?" David's sharp tone managed to help Hartley reel in his mirth.

"I'm twenty six. Or, I will be in June, anyway. I don't know why I'm surprised you think I'm so much younger than you. Considering how far you've got that stick wedged up there, it makes perfect sense."

"You're only three years younger than me." David knew he was staring, but he couldn't help it. Hartley looked like a college freshman to him. It wasn't his actual looks, per se, but his whole demeanor made him seem incredibly young.

Come to think of it, he tended to dismiss coworkers whose attitude he didn't particularly like in the same manner (the "kid" who left crumbs on his reports was probably about Patty Spivot's age).

"Yeah, we're temperamentally different, but I don't think age is really a factor for us." Hartley was still giggling a little. He looked silly, and childish, and _of course_ people would think he was younger than he was with the way he behaved…

But the smile he wore was endearing. And his eyes looked quite nice when he laughed.

"I still can't date a supervillain, Hartley."

"I know." Hartley impulsively leaned over and kissed his cheek. "I like you a lot, David, but I'm not ready for any kind of commitment that'll have me making major life changes. Let's just stay friends for now. I'll buy you cookies anyway."

"O-okay." David tried not to notice the way his cheek was tingling where Hartley's lips had touched it.

Hartley gathered up some speakers and a portable music player and packed them in a messenger bag that was covered with patches and buttons he looked to have acquired from concerts. He had quite the array, spanning just about every genre imaginable; music must have been much more than a gimmick to him. He started towards the window and flashed David another dazzling smile. "I'll see you around then."

Hartley was out the window and halfway down the fire escape before David's brain started functioning properly again. He ran towards the window with a yelp.

"Hey, I meant it about the cookies! I really am gaining weight!"

David wasn't sure Hartley had heard him until the next day, when an edible arrangement was delivered to his desk. He hastily shoved the pastel green quarter note bedecked card into his pocket while his coworkers buzzed about the elaborate fruit monstrosity dripping juices onto his paperwork.

At least fruit was healthier than peanut butter cookies.

* * *

Hartley was so dazed the next time he swung by a Rogues' meet-up that it took him a good five minutes to realize the guys were mocking him for his sexual orientation again. He'd been thinking about fruit baskets, and whether he liked mangos or papayas better, and he was worrying over the ostentatious presentation afforded by pineapples, when something Marco said finally registered.

"Look, I don't have anything against them personally, I just don't know if we should be letting them hang out with us. I mean, people might get the wrong idea. Besides, I don't want some creepy fag looking at my ass, y'know?"

"Mardon's got a point, for once," Sam agreed. "I mean, it'd be different if he kept it to himself, but he doesn't. He's always rubbing it in our faces with that flag waver crap. You know, he actually told me not to use the word queer and I know for a fact that those people use the word themselves."

Hartley had been lying on the floor by the television while he contemplated his hypothetical fruit basket (he'd decided in favor of mangoes and against pineapples-much too ostentatious) but he sat up and scowled at the assembled Rogues. It was like they were hitting all his homophobic-bullshit buttons on purpose.

"I don't see what the big deal is," Lisa commented almost idly from the sidelines. Most of her attention was on the manicure she was giving herself, or at least that was the impression she was trying to give off. Hartley was ninety percent sure that Len Snart's younger sister was nearly as calculating as her older brother and he wasn't planning on making the mistake of underestimating her. "You guys are acting like having a guy look at you is something freaky."

"But Lisa, you're probably somewhat desensitized to being objectified," Hartley said. He fixed a cold smile on his face and got up to join in on the conversation. He ought to be present, if it was going to be about him. "Homophobic asswipes don't like to consider the fact that they might be treated in the same crude manner they treat women."

"And what in the hell are you implying?" Marco bristled, an unintentional spark shooting from his weather wand as he spoke.

"I'm not implying anything. I'm flat out stating that you're a bigoted, misogynistic prick, and even if you were half as pretty as you think you are I wouldn't be remotely attracted to you. So you can call calm down if that's a genuine fear. None of you are my type."

Some of the guys were still tripping over Hartley's vocabulary, but they'd at least gotten the gist of what he'd said. Weapons were being poised to strike, but they were all cut off by a wall of ice springing up between Hartley and the rest of the Rogues.

How fitting.

Len approached them, keeping his absolute zero gun fixed on Marco. "That is absolutely enough of that bullshit. We ain't here to smack each other around. We're here to plan heists and to figure out how to get around that fucking speedster. Anyone who feels otherwise can hit the road."

Marco folded his arms over his chest. "We need to talk about this, Snart. I'm not the only one who doesn't want to be running around with a homo."

"Well Mardon, I don't give a crap what you think. Hartley's useful and he's helped us against the Capes. What he does the rest of the time is his own concern."

The Rogues raised quite the objection to their leader's point of view, but they did it all at roughly the same time so their arguments were incoherent at best. Hartley caught a lot of derogatory language aimed his way, and it left a bad taste in his mouth. He didn't care to listen to more than what he'd heard already.

"You know what? Fuck this noise. I'm done. I'll come back when you're ready to grow up enough to plan an actual heist." Hartley started towards the door but was cut off by another wall of ice. He curled his hands into fists and took a few breaths.

It didn't help.

"Really, Len? You really think I need to stay and listen to this shit?"

"C'mon, Hartley, they're just being idiots. Same as always."

"Yes, and that's a problem to me!" Hartley yelled. He turned around and glared at the whole group, from Lisa still disinterestedly painting her nails a gaudy metallic gold, to Digger shooting him a look like _he_ was the disgustingly lecherous member of the group and not Digger himself, to Mick silently disapproving of what the others were saying but not feeling the need to jump in himself, and Sam and Marco behaving like testosterone driven locker room bullies.

It was an awful lot like high school, and Hartley had utterly loathed high school.

"They have said these disgusting things and made those pathetic observations every single time we've met to plan a heist since they realized I was gay and there is no fucking reason for it. I have never said or done anything amiss to any of them, but they do this every _fucking time_. I'm sick of it and there's no reason for me to keep putting up with it. I worked fine as a solo crook and I don't mind going back to it."

"I mind," Len snapped. "You want to pull jobs in this city, kid, then you're gonna go through us."

"Besides, you're the one who made a big deal of being a homo!" Digger yelled. "We didn't need to know, you know!"

"Yeah, we didn't ask," Sam said. "You're the fucking nut job who brought it up."

"There's no reason to hide it!" Hartley exploded. "It's who I am, and I am never going back into the closet, ever. But there's no reason for you all to be assholes about it! I have done _nothing_ to you and I never will because you're all _disgusting_, all of you!"

That seemed to have made it worse.

Len smacked a hand to his forehead and muttered something about needing patience. Then a whole bunch of ice walls went up very hurriedly between all of them.

It slowed them down, as far as expressing their tempers went, but only that. Marco zapped through the ice in no time with some lightning. Hartley turned his back on them and kept heading for the door, having reached his breaking point. He'd thought his work had earned him some respect; after all, he had a higher success rate against the Flash than some of the others (though they all got trounced more often than not), and then he'd thought that lucky punch he'd thrown at Digger might have impressed some of them. Wasn't that how insecurely misogynist "macho" types were supposed to communicate with each other? But nothing helped, and he was sick of it.

Hartley was an outsider in the Rogues. The more time he spent with the costumed villains he was supposed to, in theory, fit in with, the more isolated and lonely he felt. It was quite possible that the thing drawing him to David was intellectual kinship. It had been ages since he'd had a satisfying conversation with anyone…

Hartley was very rudely jerked from his brooding by a flash of blinding pain. One of Digger's boomerangs sank into his back just as he reached the door. He fell to his knees and let out a cry.

"That's enough!" Len roared.

"Oh come on! It's the nance's own fault for turning his back on us. What kind of faggot walks away from a fight? Well, I guess we know the ans-" Digger was cut off by the sound of an absolute zero gun. When Hartley looked up, Captain Boomerang was encased in ice, his vile face frozen mid-homophobic rant.

Len looked to be in very real danger of icing all of them.

Marco threw his wand to the side and held his hands over his head. Sam was rubbing at his eyes, an exasperated look on his face, and Mick was frowning. He took a few cautious steps towards Hartley.

"Hey, kid? You're bleeding an awful lot. Should we call a crime doctor?"

"Stay the fuck away from me!" Hartley snapped.

Mick backed up and held his hands up, imitating Marco.

Len walked over to Hartley, exuding a calm that was most likely faked. Hartley was doubled over in pain, the razor boomerang still sticking out of his back just behind his shoulder blade, warm blood pooling in the fabric of his costume top. He really wanted to tell Len to get away from him too, but he had enough sense not to shout profanities at Captain Cold when he was in a mood.

"Leese, can you get the first aid kit? It's on top of the mini fridge. Hartley, c'mon over here and sit down. You want something to bite down on, kid? Because when I rip this thing out it's gonna hurt."

"I'm fine," Hartley ground out, though nothing was further from the truth. He'd never been good with pain, physical or psychological, and at the moment he was feeling both in spades. He was furious, and the anger was gnawing away at him to the point that all he wanted to do was lash out, make everyone feel his rage until they had to care about the pointless idiocy of homophobia, or selfishness, or any of the myriad wrongs that only he seemed to notice or feel compelled to address…

Fuck, but if it had been anyone else but Len he probably would have staggered out of there with the boomerang still in his back and passed out somewhere from blood loss.

Len fiddled with the setting of the gun and shot the area around the boomerang with something that numbed his skin a little, but it was still agony when he pulled the boomerang out. They got pressure on the wound and managed to close it up and get it bandaged, but Len told him to get to a real doctor as soon as he could. "You're gonna need stitches from someone who knows what they're doing."

"Go fuck yourselves, all of you."

"Fair enough." Len let out a frustrated sigh and gave his head a little shake. "I don't blame you in the least for being pissed at us, kid. Come back and talk to me in a few days though. Whatever these idiots may think, I don't want the Rogues to lose you and we _will_ be having a conversation about this bullshit they've been throwing around."

"Whatever." Hartley dragged himself to the door once more, though this time it was an incredible effort to do so. His legs were threatening to give out under him and now he had clammy sweat sticking his costume to his skin as well as blood. But his stubborn will had always been one of his defining traits, so he managed.

As he was leaving, he heard Mick ask Len if they should get some medical help ready for Digger since he was most likely going to need some treatment for hypothermia.

"I could give less than a fuck what Digger needs right now. All that asshole's been lately is a nuisance. But if you idiots are really concerned, the best thing you can do for him is get naked under a blanket. Body heat makes a difference for hypothermia."

Hartley knew for a fact there were much more effective treatments, but he appreciated Len's prescription of a big gay cuddle-fest. The shouts of dismay kept him distracted from his pain long enough to get to his car and collapse behind the steering wheel.

* * *

"This is my place," David announced.

Forrest stopped his car at the curb and let out a low whistle. "Not bad. Y'know, maybe they made a mistake about this promotion. Looks like you're doing just fine for yourself as a tech."

Everyone in the car laughed, which helped clue David in that it was light banter and not an actual shot at him. He grinned at his colleagues. "I'm just good with my finances. I promise, I'll still benefit greatly for the pay raise. Thanks for taking me out to celebrate."

"Not at all," Patty said. "I'm just glad we could convince you _to_ celebrate. You deserve this, David. You've worked your butt off."

"Yeah, congrats!" Barry enthused.

Maybe it was the round of drinks Forrest and Allen had insisted on, but at the moment David didn't find the kid as annoying as he usually did. His personality shone much better in a dimly lit sports bar than in an office.

David stepped out of the car and waved them along. Forrest beeped at him a few times before zipping down the street and out of sight. Still smiling, excited that he'd managed to snag the promotion despite his workplace persona, David unlocked the door and headed upstairs.

He was half wondering if Hartley would be there when he got to his floor. He hadn't seen his "secret admirer" in a few days, which was probably for the best since he wasn't even sure they could maintain this odd friendship they'd developed, but at the same time he'd like to see him. Celebrating the longed for promotion with his coworkers had been nice, but a part of him really wanted to brag about it to Hartley.

He was a little disappointed to open his front door and find a darkened apartment. Not only that, but he'd been expecting some kind of congratulatory gift from his odd little stalker. Hartley had probably known he'd gotten the promotion before it had even been announced, such seemed to be his ability to learn things he shouldn't have access to. David knew it was a little presumptuous to expect something, but he'd still amused himself during his coworkers' rambling conversations by trying to predict what Hartley would get for him.

He shrugged out of his coat and his shoes, neatly put everything away, and went to loosen his tie before he remembered that he'd taken it off at the bar. David rescued it from where it was getting crumpled in his coat pocket and went to the bedroom to put it in his to-iron pile.

He flicked on the light and almost had a heart attack.

His bedroom window was open, his nightstand had been knocked over, and there was a man lying on his bed curled in on himself and hugging his side. His duvet was hopelessly stained from the blood seeping from the deathly pale, prone figure.

David rushed to his side and lifted Hartley's head with his hands as gently as he dared. His typically vibrant and emotive blue eyes were dull looking and half-lidded. "Hartley, what happened?"

"David?" the white, bloodless lips tried to stretch into a smile. "Wh-where were you? Been waiting…"

"I, I went out for drinks after work-Hartley, what happened to you?" David slipped off Hartley's tinted glasses and pulled down his hood. It was the first time he'd seen him in the Piper costume.

Considering the circumstances, that struck him as ominous. Hartley had never set out to see him in his work clothes before; he must have shown up in a state of desperation.

"Had a…disagreement with…urgh. Sorry, m'not feeling well. Making a mess. Just wanna see you. Couldn't go home. No one there."

David helplessly watched Hartley's eyes drift shut, and he gave him a little shake. Hartley gave a groan and cringed away from him.

"Hartley, keep your eyes open. You've lost a lot of blood. Oh god, what happened to you?" The blood stain was mostly concentrated behind Hartley, so the wound must have been on his back. David unclasped Hartley's hooded cloak and peeled it off of him as carefully as he could, then gently nudged him onto his stomach.

He wanted to throw up when he saw his back. There was a literal hole just beside his shoulder blade. It was hard to tell how deep it was with all the blood, plus it looked like some idiot had tried to seal it shut with crazy glue. Hartley's black shirt had been torn open to give someone access to treat the wound, but they'd done a half-assed job. Maybe even a quarter-assed job.

David was angrier than he'd ever been in his life. He was angry with Hartley for getting himself into such a situation to begin with, he was angry with the Rogues for being so careless with one of their own members, and he was angry with himself for being so invested.

He'd known something like this was going to happen. It was an inevitability. And yet, if Hartley died he was going to lose it.

And if he recovered himself, he was going to devote his life to putting those costumed bastards behind bars and actually keeping them there.

David fumbled through his pocket until he found his phone. His hands were shaking, and the phone was slippery in his bloodied hands, but he managed to call 911. Then Hartley showed a surprising amount of strength all things considered and smacked the phone out of his hands before he could press the send button.

"Hartley, you need help."

"No." Hartley clung to him, preventing him from getting off the bed and getting his phone from the floor. "I can't…urgh, I can't get caught now. M'weak. I won't get out of Iron Heights for…for weeks."

"Hartley, you're dying."

"M'not." His eyes fell shut again and he let out another pained groan. "David, you'll get in trouble if they find me here. I…I won't be able to see you again."

"We'll never see each other again if you die. Stop being ridiculous, Hartley. We'll think of something." He tried and failed to ignore the sinking feeling that came with realizing Hartley was right about one thing; if they found him there David would most definitely be in trouble. This might cost him his promotion, if not his job.

Which was not going to stop him from getting Hartley help; he wasn't going to just helplessly watch the guy bleed out on his duvet. David pried Hartley's hands off of him, a task that was much easier than he would have liked, and got on the floor to get his phone.

"David, please…looks worse'n it is. Please don't. I don' want, don't want to lose you."

"Funny, that's exactly what I was thinking," David snapped at him. He was starting to feel hysterical.

"Don' call a hospidal…call the crime doctor."

"Crime doctor?" David climbed unsteadily to his feet. He actually considered the ridiculous notion for half a second, such was his desire to avoid having to explain to his superiors why the supercriminal who had saved him from the Rogues had come to his bedroom in the middle of the night with a stab wound. But then he looked at the crazy glue failing to hold Hartley's skin together and his resolve firmed.

He called for an ambulance without any further hesitation.

* * *

_A/N: Sorry for the cliffie! I'm working on the next chapter already, I promise! _


	4. Chapter 4

Hartley wasn't in handcuffs when he woke up, so he supposed that was a plus. Then again, he was also weak as a kitten so a lack of handcuffs didn't necessarily imply a lack of police custody. He'd almost bled to death; restraints might have been considered redundant.

He was having a hard time getting his vision to focus on any one point so he wasn't entirely sure where he was. Everything seemed very bright and very blurry. He drifted in and out of consciousness for a bit, partially out of continued weakness and a need for rest and partially out of boredom. After some amount of time that was difficult to discern passed, he awoke to find another person in the room with him.

He wanted it to be David, but that wasn't likely and even in his confused and hazy state of perception he was aware of that. The jerk had called 911, not a crime doctor. Hartley wouldn't be seeing the sexy scientist again anytime soon (if ever, though he was trying not to think of that).

He cracked his eyes open and forced them to focus on the person sitting in a chair next to his bed. Her lips were moving, but it took him a moment to focus on what she was saying.

"-talked to your father, and we're going to sort everything out. They want to keep you here for another couple of days, and then you'll come home with us and we'll take care of you. Don't worry, dearest. Just relax and focus on getting better for now."

"M-mom?"

Rachel immediately fell silent. Hartley's vision was probably blurring out again, because it looked like her eyes had filled with tears, but Rachel Rathaway was an emotionless, cold hearted shrew of a woman. Hartley often wondered whether she even had tear ducts.

"Hartley, are you awake?"

Maybe it wasn't even Rachel Rathaway. It had to be some kind of clone, or an alien imposter or something. Hartley had never heard his mother express that amount of emotion in her voice before, and he'd most certainly never heard her sound vulnerable. She was haughty, proud, and snobbish; pretty much the opposite of vulnerable.

And she didn't cry. She hadn't shed a single tear during any of their fights; not even the big one that had ended with Hartley being chucked out of the house by his enraged father. Rachel had been cool as a cucumber throughout.

The suspiciously-not-Rachel-ish woman got up from her chair and strode out of Hartley's line of vision. She was shouting something out into the hallway, and a moment later Hartley found himself set upon by medical professionals. They looked him over, took his vitals, and tried to ask him a few questions. He couldn't get his mouth to do what he wanted it to, but it helped when they raised the bed and gave him a few sips of water.

"What the hell's going on?" Hartley finally managed.

A doctor threw a bunch of medical jargon at him, explaining the specifics of his condition and how he was healing and all sorts of superficial shit Hartley didn't give a damn about. He pretended like that was what he was asking, and when the caregivers filed out to 'give him and his mother some privacy,' he set about trying to get the info he really wanted.

"Mom, what are you doing here?" Hartley asked. "And why aren't I in jail?"

"You're not in jail because you almost died, Hartley. You were taken to the hospital and your condition was too touch and go for them to even consider moving you to the Iron Heights infirmary. Besides that, every time that horrible suggestion has been raised your father and I have made our objections known. We've amassed quite the legal team to help us, dearest. Once the doctors think you're ready, you should be able to finish your recuperation at home and in private."

"I'm confused."

Rachel nodded curtly. "I figured you would be. You always were determined to make monsters of your father and I. Darling, despite our…disagreements-"

"Is that the euphemism we'll be using then?"

"Hartley, we love you. You scared us out of our wits with those silly stunts of yours, and then this nearly bleeding to death business…please, darling. Won't you promise me that you'll be a good boy from now on, or at the least be done with the supervillainy?" Rachel grabbed his hand before he had any hope of pulling it away and gave it a tight squeeze. "I can't stand the thought that we might have lost you without ever getting the chance to talk things over."

Hartley tried to pull his hand away from hers but she only gripped him tighter. "Mom, I'm not ready to talk things over. I'm still angry at you guys. Do you have any idea what you put me through?"

"Some," Rachel said, voice high and pinched. "I know you wouldn't have reacted so spectacularly without some provocation. However, I think a lot of this supervillainy fuss was an overreaction. Hartley, the point is that the three of us need to sit down and have a conversation, and we can't hope to do so if you've gotten yourself killed."

"But I don't want to reconcile!"

"Well that's just too bad for you, because I won't be taking no for an answer on this. Now, perhaps you should take another nap. You've gotten yourself all worked up and we were hoping to have you discharged this week. Go to sleep, dearest. We can talk again later."

She meant she could talk and he could listen, just like always, but Hartley really was too tired to fight. He closed his eyes just to have an excuse not to look at her anymore and silently fumed.

And he silently worried for David, but he was resigned to that particular fear nagging him for the foreseeable future. He couldn't hope to raise the subject naturally in a conversation, and introducing it could make things worse than they probably already were for his stupidly noble crush.

He'd just have to be patient.

Hartley hated being patient.

* * *

Just when Hartley thought he couldn't be more disgusted with the power bestowed by unethically large sums of money, his parents still managed to surprise him by the things they shouldn't legally have been able to get away with. They somehow managed to have him discharged from the hospital and brought to the mansion without a single jail cell in between.

Technically, he supposed the ankle monitor he was wearing signified that he was under house arrest, but as his house was larger than some universities it wasn't much of a hindrance.

Then again, having only his parents and their mistreated servants for company wasn't exactly pleasant. He wasn't entirely sure he wouldn't have preferred a jail cell.

Hartley was set up in his old bedroom for the duration of his convalescence. He was a bit surprised his parents hadn't remodeled it into another guest room after their falling out, though that might have taken more effort than they were interested in. Plus destroying the last lingering traces Hartley had left in their home would have been an acknowledgment of sorts, and he was pretty sure that at the time Osgood and Rachel were only interested in forgetting about their loud mouthed disappointment of a son.

Hartley's room looked exactly the way he remembered leaving it. His enormous bookcases, full to the gills with books, comic book trades, and CDs were untouched, and his record crates were still stacked around his collection of audio equipment. His laptop was even still sitting on his desk, covered in radical propaganda bumper stickers that he'd collected at a socialism conference he'd attended just before getting tossed out.

Hartley wore pajama pants and faded concert tees he hadn't seen since he was nineteen and read through the files on his obsolete computer, amused at the rants he'd spewed onto word files while still testing out unfamiliar arguments on social issues. He'd been an angry little baby activist at the time, and some of his "deep convictions" were just adorable.

His parents mostly left him alone, although he did catch his mom opening his bedroom door a crack and peeking in on him at odd intervals. She mostly did it at night when she expected him to be asleep. It was pretty unsettling, so he tried not to notice.

The first week passed pretty easily. He was still recovering, after all, and he needed the bed rest. It's not like he was actually up to going anywhere, and lying in bed all day listening to his old albums was even almost nice.

By the second week he was stir crazy, lonely, and seriously considering dismantling and reprogramming the ankle monitor. He wasn't actually interested in making an escape attempt, but he'd have liked something to do.

He still didn't have much of a clue about what was going on. His father was outright avoiding him while his mother was accomplishing much the same by accident. She said she wanted to 'give him some space to think' and she kept saying that she and Osgood were busy looking after Hartley's legal difficulties. In reality, he was pretty sure she was just trying to avoid a fight.

Hartley was starting to feel better. He was strong enough to be moody and resentful, and he wanted to know what was going on. He almost wanted to be sent to Iron Heights. If that happened, he could just escape again, and then he'd be able to swing by his apartment and see if he'd been evicted, and if he was he could always sleep in one of his bases again for a little while, and most importantly he could check up on David and see if the jerk had managed to get himself fired.

He really hoped that wasn't the case. David's job meant so much to him, and Hartley was sickened at the thought of having cost him all that hard work.

God, how could he have been such an idiot? He should have just let Mick call the crime doctor like he'd offered, and then none of this would have happened. Why had he dragged himself to David's anyway? It had been so stupid, and unforgivably selfish.

But he'd been hurt and scared and he'd wanted comfort. David had been sensible, and even though he'd yelled at Hartley an awful lot, he'd also held him and tried to keep him conscious while they waited for the ambulance. It hadn't worked, of course. Hartley had lost the fight to stay awake nestled in David's arms, and then when he'd woken up he'd been at the hospital and he hadn't seen the man since.

Night and day became a bit meaningless for him when he had nowhere to go and no one to talk to, so Hartley wound up semi-nocturnal again, which was how he'd spent most of his adolescence. He stopped paying attention to the hour of the day and moped around his colossal bedroom, amusing himself when he could but mostly just brooding with records on that reflected his mood.

He was lying on his bed in pitch blackness thinking that he probably ought to be asleep when he heard voices in the house. They weren't anywhere near him, but the house was perfectly still; if he didn't have robot-enhanced hearing he would have missed them entirely. Since he was hopelessly bored he listened in on them.

The first voice was most definitely his father. Osgood sounded irritated, but he was using that phony polite voice he had that he thought hid everything. He was going on about favors, and how he didn't owe whoever it was any more of them.

Then the second man finally spoke, and Hartley's heart leapt to his throat when he recognized David.

He was out of bed without a second thought. Hartley practically flew down the hall and down the stairs to his father's study. He thought to check his ankle monitor before he barged in on them. The study was clear on the other side of the house from his bedroom. There was a chance he'd gone out of range of his restrictions, but the thing looked the same as always. It wasn't beeping or anything, so the chances of them getting interrupted by the cops was minimal.

Hartley pushed the door open and strode in as confidently as he could fake it, though his hands were shaking a bit.

He hadn't spoken to his father in years. So far Rachel had been the one checking up on him and delivering what information they'd deemed it important for him to know (which had turned out to be almost nothing).

Osgood looked much the same as Hartley remembered. He was a little greyer and his face was a bit more pinched, but he was still the stern looking man of privilege Hartley had always butted heads with. At the moment he was standing by the window. He'd been wearing a sneer before Hartley burst in and switched his expression to one of concern.

"Hartley, what in the blazes are you doing downstairs! You're supposed to be resting."

"I've been resting for over a week. Walking downstairs isn't going to kill me."

"It's the middle of the night. You should be asleep," Osgood insisted.

Hartley ignored him and turned instead to David, who was looking fairly discomposed in the stuffy armchair opposite where Osgood was standing. "Is that why you're here now? Were you trying to avoid me?"

"I've been pleading for permission to see you, actually," David said, something that might have been relief flashing over his handsome features. "You look worlds better than the last time I saw you. How are you feeling?"

"Other than the worst case of cabin fever I've experienced in my life, I'm fine. Well, that and I've started actually talking to my old stuffed animals. House arrest doesn't agree with me."

"Hartley, will you stop talking to this interloper and go back to your room where you belong?" Osgood looked furious.

Hartley crossed his arms over his chest and glared at him. "Bite me. I've been quiet and well behaved for over a week. I think I deserve some answers."

"Oh, you think you're in a position to give orders now, do you?" Osgood's sneer returned in full force. "With what you've put everyone through? You've got some nerve, Hartley. Now get back up those stairs before I change my mind and have them throw you in a jail cell. It's what you deserve."

"Go ahead. Send me to Iron Heights. You know how good they are at holding onto me."

"Hartley, no." David got up and walked over to him. He grabbed onto his arms and fixed Hartley with a look that was both pleading and frightened. "You don't know how much work your parents have done to try to wipe your record. If you step out of line now you'll ruin everything."

"Wipe my record? What are you talking about, David? That can't be possible." He'd been an active super criminal for over a year. That wasn't the type of thing that could just be expunged from the record, was it?

"You never actually hurt anyone and we've been able to establish that almost all of the money you stole wound up in the hands of charitable organizations. Which doesn't make the thefts okay, by any means, but it does cast you in a sympathetic light. The DA is considering giving you a plea, as long as you cooperate and stay out of trouble." David held his gaze, expression making the subtle shift from fear to hope. "You could be a regular civilian again, Hartley."

Hartley released a breath he hadn't been aware of holding. "And then we could…"

"Absolutely not!" Osgood roared. Any pretense of composure had evaporated with stamping feet and waving hands. "I knew it! I knew you had designs on my boy. Well let me tell you now that I will not stand for it. A son of mine, involved with some degenerate status seeking mulatto. I won't have it!"

"Mulatto? Father, if you're going to be racist could you at least get his ethnicity right? David is a dashing looking American of southeast Asian descent." Hartley smiled at David, loving the fact that even in this situation, with so much confusion and emotion swirling around, the man still looked flustered when Hartley called him hot. "And I promise you, David doesn't have any status seeking designs on me. He's pretty adept at climbing the ladder without me. In fact, I'm pretty sure I'd only screw things up for him. I mean, if I haven't already."

"Miraculously, you didn't get me fired," David said.

"Oh good-"

"But now might not be the best time to fill you in about that."

Hartley took a look at his quietly raging father and had to cede David the point.

Osgood stalked over to them and jabbed David in the chest with his bony finger. "I want you out of this house this instant! I've only given you as much leeway as I have already because of you making that phone call-"

"You mean calling for the ambulance that saved my life, at this risk of his career and reputation?" Hartley asked, feigning a throwaway manner.

"Darling, don't irritate him on purpose."

Hartley couldn't suppress a stupid smile at the endearment. "If you don't want to irritate him, don't call me darling. But seriously, call me darling all you want. I like it."

"I will not allow this!" Osgood exploded. He helplessly gestured between them. "Y-you're a Rathaway! This was not part of the plan."

"Dad, I'm kind of a fuckup, all things considered. David's way too good for me. Seriously, I could do so much worse. Actually, I have done worse. I could turn the rest of your hair grey, telling you about the boyfriends I had when you first threw me out on the street."

"What are all these raised voices about? You'll wake…Hartley." Rachel paused in the doorway, took in the scene before her, and then turned an exasperated look on her husband. "Osgood, what have you done? It's like you set out to deliberately ignore everything I told you to do. I _told_ you this foolish young man was sweet on Hartley, didn't I? And now you've gone and made a dramatic production and brought them closer together, haven't you?"

"…it wasn't _quite_ like that."

"It's true, Mrs. Rathaway. We did most of the damage ourselves," David assured her. "Your husband stood very little chance of reasoning me away."

Hartley shot out a hand and clasped David's. He was almost as happy to have his fingers squeezed in return as when he'd been called darling. This was shaping up to be a very good night.

Rachel let out a little 'hm' noise and then walked past them to stand by her husband's side. "Well dear, I think it's pretty hopeless, don't you? I mean, just look at the way they're looking at each other. It's obvious they're already in love."

"That's not love. Two men cannot-it's a perversion, is what it is," Osgood said, more flustered and discomposed than Hartley could ever remember seeing him.

Rachel wasn't having it. "I'm not thrilled my only son has decided to be a homosexual, but even I can see that we've lost this battle. His life will have enough challenges without us making it worse. We've already tried your way and where did that get us? It got us publically humiliated on multiple occasions, and it ended in Hartley almost bleeding to death. Shall we try it my way for once?"

"And what's your way? Giving in on anything he wants as soon as he makes enough fuss?"

"Loving him, Osgood, imperfections and all."

"M-mom?" Hartley finally tore his eyes from David to gape at her, not sure he was hearing this right. He was even willing to overlook the stupid comment about him choosing to be gay. "Are you…you're accepting me?"

"It doesn't look like this…well, the homosexuality…it isn't a phase, is it?"

Hartley shook his head. "It's who I am."

"Then I'd rather protect you and help than be a source of further grief to you, sweetheart," Rachel said. "The doctors who saved you, they said the stab wound in your back came from a boomerang. One of those costumed men attacked you, didn't they? David said he thought they might have attacked you for being a homosexual. It's so dangerous, Hartley. Are you absolutely certain you can't just be normal?"

"Pretty sure, yeah. I tried and it didn't work for me at all."

"You tried?" Osgood asked, dripping mockery.

Hartley's stomach churned from the disrespect. He'd plunged himself into quite the depression, trying to suppress himself to be the son his parents wanted. Not only had it not worked, but apparently they hadn't even noticed. "Actually I did. I tried for most of high school. Do you remember what I was like in high school?"

Based on the horrified look on Rachel's face as she pressed a hand to her mouth, she did. "Sweetheart, you were miserable. Always locking yourself in your room with that music blasting day and night, barely taking meals, oh, oh Osgood, we can't put him through that again."

"Mr. and Mrs. Rathaway, given Hartley's rather erratic lifestyle choices," David began, winning himself a few points from Hartley's parents with his word choice, "I can fully appreciate your concerns. But I promise you, being gay is the least of his problems. Personally, I find the supervillainy to be the worst of it, and I'm pretty sure that all he needs is some support to help him channel his misplaced emotions and considerable talents in more productive, less controversial ends."

Rachel nodded. "We're certainly in agreement on that. Hartley, I absolutely shudder at the thought of you ever putting on that ridiculous costume again. Please, promise me that you're quite through with playing at being a supervillain."

"Playing? I wasn't playing. I'm _good_ at being a supervillain."

"Darling, you really aren't," David insisted, and damn him for taking the cheap shot (Hartley liked the endearment even better upon repetition). "You're far too kind hearted to be successful at it in the long run, and it almost got you killed. I agree with your parents entirely on this. Please promise me you'll give it up."

"But I…I…" Well, it's not like he'd actually liked being a Rogue. The Rogues were a bunch of assholes.

But he'd liked having his freedom, and he'd liked helping the people that society forgot.

"Hartley, please…" David looked so sad, and Hartley hated to think that he was the reason for it.

"All right, I'll give up being the Piper."

Rachel and Osgood both started talking at once, but they stopped mid-word when David pulled Hartley close and kissed him on the mouth.

Hartley was shocked at first, but only at first. He completely surrendered to the kiss and leaned into David's embrace to return it. David kept his arms wrapped tightly around Hartley even after they stopped kissing, looking a bit hysterical in his relief.

"I've never been so relieved in my life. Hartley, you can't ever go back on that promise. I don't know what I'd do if I ever found you lying in a pool of your own blood again. You can't put me through that again."

"I-I won't. I'm sorry." Hartley let his eyes drift shut, blocking out his parents entirely and focusing his attention exclusively on the infinitely better sensation of being enfolded in his sexy scientist's arms. "I had no idea you cared that much. I thought I was just annoying you."

"Oh, you're very good at that too," David said.

Osgood let out a snort. "Now that's something _we_ agree on."

Hartley was tempted to flip his father off, but it seemed like they were finally getting somewhere so he managed to hold himself in check.

David accidentally brushed his hand over the wad of bandages on Hartley's back when he let go of him, and even though he tried to suppress his reaction everyone saw him flinch and heard his hiss of pain. They'd all been watching him like a hawk.

"Dearest, perhaps you should go back upstairs and rest?" Rachel's voice was hesitant, like she expected Hartley to fly off the handle at her. It was a bit of a wakeup call for him. His own mother was honestly afraid that he'd freak out over her expressing concern for his well-being.

He was going to have to reevaluate his relationship with his parents. They were still homophobic as fuck, but it looked like his mom at least had her heart in the right place.

"Mom, I've been sitting alone in the dark for over a week. I feel really weird saying it like this, but can't I stay up a little bit longer?"

Rachel glanced between her son and their guest and then gave a small nod. "I do think you ought to go upstairs and rest, but why don't you let this charming young man escort you? I'm sure the two of you have some things you'd like to discuss between you without your parents listening in."

Hartley felt like he was hearing things again. "Really? Is that okay?" He shot a desperate look at his father, whose expression had grown difficult to read. Osgood turned his back on them and started pacing again. "Dad…?"

"Oh, now you're consulting me?"

"Osgood," Rachel said in a warning tone.

"Do whatever you want. You've already demonstrated that you'll just do it anyway, so don't even concern yourselves minding me."

David took Hartley's arm in his. "That's good enough for me."

"Yeah…uh, good night, Mom. Thanks."

"Good night, sweetheart. Good night, David. I trust you'll show yourself out when you've finished speaking with Hartley?"

"I think I can manage that."

"Yes, if you can manage Hartley then I'm sure you can manage just about anything." Rachel smiled charmingly at both of them before sweeping out of the study.

David and Hartley followed after her without saying anything to Osgood, though they moved much more slowly. Hartley was tempted to tell David that he was actually in pretty good shape and recovering well from his near death experience, but then at the same time it was pretty nice to get to lean up against him like that. The long walk through the first floor of the mansion, up the stairs, and then down the hall to his bedroom passed in a sort of daze.

Hartley still couldn't quite process it. His parents had acknowledged his sexual orientation, they'd met the man he was smitten with, and Rachel had even seemed to give her approval (Osgood's passive aggressive retort was probably the best Hartley could hope for). It was like a dream. He was getting his life back…

He was brought back from his thoughts when David pushed open his bedroom door and immediately dissolved into laughter.

"What?" Hartley asked.

"You are so, _so_ predictable…Hartley, it's like a mansion scaled dorm room in here."

"Well, I haven't actually lived in my bedroom since I was nineteen."

"Touché."

David helped him over to the bed and then sat down beside him. He fondly brushed some of Hartley's bangs out of his face and leaned in for a slow, tender kiss.

Hartley could have been perfectly content to sit there smiling stupidly and trading kisses for the rest of the night, but he had an awful lot on his mind and he figured his present run of luck would give out sooner as opposed to later. He had some questions to ask before he lost his chance to the obstacles that were inevitably going to spring up between them.

"This is really surreal," Hartley began. "I mean, this is a pretty big jump from not even telling me if you were gay." Hartley looked down at their joined hands for emphasis.

"That was a weak display of resistance at best. My feelings for you are terribly inconvenient for me, but I'm plagued with them anyway."

"Your sweet talk could use some work." Though he couldn't say he was all that bothered. For some reason, being compared to a plague didn't sound nasty when it came from David. Maybe it had something to do with the way he was smiling like a lovesick teenager while he said it. "So what's going on? How long have you been talking to my folks?"

"Since the night you were attacked, actually. I rode in the ambulance with you, and by the time I got to the hospital I was incredibly shaken. I don't know what would have happened if your father hadn't gotten to me before the detectives came. I was lawyered up before you were prepped for surgery."

"Oh." So that explained why he still had his job. "Um, so what are you telling people? Why do they think I went to your house?"

"The official line is that you weren't looking for anyone in particular. In your pain and confusion you went for the first uninhabited apartment you could find, and it happened to be mine."

"That…"

"Sounds a lot more convincing from the mouths of highly paid legal experts."

Hartley supposed it would. "So no one knows we've been…well, seeing each other isn't the right word."

"No, no one knows we're involved with each other, and I think that's for the best." David's confidence started to falter, so Hartley gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. "I'd hoped to put this off a little longer, but we may as well discuss it sooner as opposed to later. Hartley, I'm not like you."

"I've noticed." Hartley's tone was light, but he hoped his expression conveyed that he was being serious. "You're a lot more serious and focused and way more mature than I've ever tried to be. It's okay. I like our differences. I'm…I'm thinking that a little seriousness might be good for me." And he loved that he could just talk to David about their disagreements, as opposed to dodging lightning and boomerangs.

"A little would most definitely do wonders for you, especially if it comes with a dose of self-preservation, but I don't want to see you change too much. I've been thinking for some time that lightening up wouldn't kill me…"

Hartley laughed, and leaned in to kiss his cheek. "I can definitely help with that."

"Wonderful, but that wasn't what I was talking about. Look, I don't even know how you realized I was gay. I'm not…not stereotypical, or flamboyant, or whatever else you want to call it. I've taken pains to come across as respectable as possible and I plan on continuing to do so. My personal life is no one else's business and I won't have it be used against me for the sake of workplace politics."

Hartley slowly let go of David's hand and returned it to his lap. "So…you're closeted?"

"Yes."

"David, does _anyone_ know you're gay? Any friends or family?"

David shook his head. "My parents wouldn't approve. Besides, I don't see how it's anyone else's business."

"But, but coming out of the closet is what allowed the gay community to make the rapid progress we have in so short a span of time. We went from the total repression of the McCarthy era to marriage equality in over thirty states. The biggest factor for a lot of people was finding out that their friends and family members were gay and that we're just real people like anyone else. It's easy to hate some faceless mass, but when people get to know you, you can change their minds."

"I get that, I do. But I don't think I'm going to be of much help. Besides, my parents are far too set in their ways to come around on this."

"And mine weren't?"

David pressed his lips together, face set in stern resolve. "I'm not changing my mind on this, Hartley. If you want to be involved with me you'll have to accept my terms, and this is non-negotiable. I'm not coming out."

Hartley took a slow breath. "I think I need a minute."

"Is this really a deal breaker for you?" David looked genuinely surprised, which surprised Hartley in turn.

"I can't begin to explain how deeply I loathe the closet. I…I don't get why you'd want to lie to people about who you are-"

"It's not lying. Besides, I'm much more than my sexual orientation. And one of those things is a forensic scientist for the Central City police department, in Central City _Missouri_."

Hartley winced. "Touché. I grew up here. I know it's not easy to be gay. But that's one of the reasons why being out is important. That's how you change minds."

"It's one method of helping the cause, but it's not mine. I'm a private man, Hartley."

"But if you won't even tell your friends…it's like you're ashamed of me." Hartley shook his head. "I don't think I can do it. I was in the closet when I tried to date my first boyfriend back in high school, and it was a mess. I know that most of it was because we were in fucking high school, but I'm pretty sure part of it was all the sneaking around and lying to everyone."

David's face looked stony. Hartley couldn't for the life of him figure out what the man was thinking, but his heart sank when David stood to go. "I guess we're done then."

"David, wait-"

"What else do we have to talk about? I can't possibly come out of the closet and you refuse to date someone who isn't bedecked in rainbows and shouting pride slogans to the masses."

"That's not what I said…" Hartley weakly reached for his hand, but David pulled away. Hartley put his head in his hands and took a few deep breaths. "You're twisting my words around."

"Actually, I'm being straightforward. You're the one making a production of this when it's actually rather simple. We both feel strongly for each other, but once again, we're butting heads over our fundamental differences. I can't come out and you won't accept that."

"That's not what I said!" Hartley felt like clawing his hair out. "I said I need a minute because I'm having a hard time accepting that. The closet was monstrous for me. I don't see how you could possibly want to live that way, or want me to go back to that."

"Hartley, you don't have to go back into the closet to date me. Be as out and proud as you want. I'd particularly like it if you kept up your involvement with your charities, just as long as you're on the right side of the law this time. Just don't tell anyone I'm your boyfriend."

Hartley lifted his head from his hands and fixed a pleading stare on David, who was still standing over him. His gorgeous brown eyes looked a bit warmer than they'd been, which was a nice change. "But David…you're a sexy scientist. What about my bragging rights?"

"Oh for the love of…"

"What? We were getting disgustingly serious there. Someone had to lighten the mood and it certainly wasn't going to be _you_."

David sat down beside him and squeezed his hand again. "No, it wasn't. You're ridiculous."

"Yep. You like me anyway."

"God help me, but I really do."

Hartley leaned against him and closed his eyes. "We'll give it a try. I still think it's a bad idea, and that you'd feel better if you came out, but it's your decision."

"Yep."

"Even if you're determined to pick wrong."

David playfully flicked his nose. "Says the ex-con."

"Yeah, so what does that tell you if even _I_ know you're making a mistake?" Hartley stuck out his tongue and David laughed.

"We can revisit this later. For the moment, I'd much rather hold you and enjoy the fact that you're not dead."

"That sounds nice."

They settled against the pillows, Hartley resting with his cheek over David's heart, listening to the steady thump of his heartbeat. David carded his fingers through Hartley's hair, playing with the soft strands.

"I'm sorry," Hartley muttered, so quietly he thought for a second that David hadn't heard him.

"Whatever for?"

"For…for scaring you and almost bleeding out on your bed, and then yelling at you for helping me. You saved my life and I almost broke your phone trying to stop you."

"Darling, you didn't actually hit it that hard. You couldn't, since you were stubbornly trying to bleed to death." David tilted his face up and kissed him. "You did me a scare, but don't worry about it. Things are working out much better than I expected. I didn't actually lose you."

"Mm." Piper tugged down the collar of David's shirt and dropped a chaste kiss on the collarbone he'd fantasized about, and was now promising himself he'd trace with his tongue when he was feeling up to the task. "I guess I can't argue with that logic."

"Go to sleep, Hart. You look exhausted."

"But…" But if he fell asleep he'd wake up with no David (and two grumpy parents for company instead).

"I'll come back tomorrow after work. If your parents try to make a fuss, I'll make sure to be more stubborn than them. I won't leave until I get a chance to see you. Now go to sleep."

"Okay." Hartley closed his eyes, but he remained awake for a while longer, enjoying the feel of David's hands stroking through his hair. David most likely thought Hartley was asleep when he murmured a few silly endearments that the stuffy scientist would _never_ have said otherwise, but they charmed his new boyfriend.

Hartley hoped David would call him his beautiful young fool sometime when he was fully awake.


	5. Chapter 5

True to his word, David returned to the Rathaway house as soon as he got out of work. This was about three hours later than usual; the promotion coupled with an unusually heavy workload had been extending his workday all week. Add to that the infrequent meetings he was having with the Rathaway lawyers and the time he'd spent with Osgood trying to persuade him to let him see Hartley to begin with, and David was starting to crack. He may have been an unusually focused and productive person to begin with, but he still needed to relax for at least a couple hours a week to function.

Much as he wanted to have an actual visit with Hartley, he was half-hoping they might just socially nap together. Maybe this time he could curl up against Hartley and Hartley could stroke his hair nice and soothingly…

As usual, he was shown into Osgood's study and was forced to wait a good forty minutes for acknowledgment. After the first ten minutes he was tempted to just leave for Hartley's room on his own. He knew where it was now, and when Hartley was actually with him he didn't feel the same overwhelming anxiety about making a good impression on the guy's parents. But considering the tensions between father and son, David likely needed to be twice as diplomatic if only to save Hartley from grievances he was going to create for himself.

So David waited, and eventually the tired man fell into a doze.

Osgood left him slumbering in the armchair and went to his desk to do some busywork for his company. He was happily occupied with work emails when, out of nowhere, Rachel was impatiently tapping him on the shoulder. He gave a start, and had the decency to look a bit cowed. "Yes, dearest?"

"Honestly, Osgood, you're as stubborn as Hartley." She shook her head, then walked over to David and gently tapped him awake. "Hello, Mr. Singh. I assume you're here to visit Hartley? He's been waiting for you."

"Yes, that would be…that's why I'm here." David gave himself a small shake. "I'm sorry. How long was I asleep for?"

"I'm not sure, but I do believe my husband would have left you all night if I hadn't wandered in. Come with me. I'll show you upstairs."

Osgood let out an injured sniff and went back to his emails. He was bitterly muttering something about dirty mongrels when they left the study. David had to bite his tongue particularly hard to keep from responding to that.

Rachel must have noticed his anger, though he was doing his best to suppress it. "I'm so sorry about my husband. I can't pretend I wouldn't have preferred it if Hartley had settled down with a young girl from our circle, but you seem like a nice enough man and Osgood is being unforgivably rude about you. He'll get over it with time, I'm sure."

David wasn't sure how to respond and didn't really trust himself to when he was so tired and already frustrated from a busy day, so he settled for thanking her and remaining quiet for the long walk upstairs to Hartley's bedroom.

Rachel rapped on the door and called for her son in a trilling sing-song voice. "Sweetheart, you have a visitor."

There wasn't an answer. Rachel frowned a prim little frown, then flung open the door, releasing a cacophony of sound. David had to wonder at her enraged reaction; the flute sounded perfectly nice and innocuous to him, but then, it looked like he was once again on the periphery of an old family drama. Rachel kicked at some small metal boxes that had been set up on either side of the door, then strode across the room to where her son was seated cross legged on his bed, playing his flute.

David's heart gave an excited little flutter when he saw Hartley. Some of his crankiness melted away with the pleasant visual reminder that the stunning young man opposite him wasn't dead, was making strides to lessen the likelihood of an untimely death, and (for some inscrutable reason) was romantically interested in him. Hartley was once more dressed in clothes he'd owned as a teenager, in this case a baggy t-shirt with the collar ripped off, so that it nicely showed off his graceful neck and a bit of smooth, muscled chest, and a tight pair of bright green jeans. Between his outfit, his ponytail, and the music he effortlessly produced, he looked wonderfully artsy and hip, and David had to once more question what the man saw in a stuffy suit like him.

Hartley ignored his mother and focused on his music for as long as possible, but when Rachel grasped his ponytail and tugged he was forced to acknowledge her.

"_Fuck_! C'mon, Mom, I'm recovering from a life-threatening injury and you're pulling my fucking hair?"

"Don't you use that language with me, mister. And if you had your hair cut to a reasonable length I wouldn't have this convenient natural handle for when you're being an ass, now would I?"

"I can't use f-bombs but you can call me an ass? That's totally fair."

"It seems fair to me," David commented. "Considering you are being a total ass."

"David!" Hartley's face lit up. He tossed the flute aside, edged around his mother, and went for the doorway. "I was starting to think you weren't going to come."

"I'm sorry I'm so late. Work's been insane this week. You look pretty spry for someone recovering from a life threatening injury."

"The aches associated with it are incredibly conveniently timed for our invalid," Rachel observed.

Hartley scowled. "You don't have to kiss up to my parents, David. It's not going to make a difference."

David traded a knowing look with Rachel, whom he'd formed a tentative alliance with, and brushed Hartley off. "So you set up sound dampeners to practice flute without your mother noticing?"

"Where did these horrid little things even come from?" Rachel asked. She nudged one of them with the toe of her slipper.

David walked over to the table by the record crates, which had been covered with different, in-tact, audio equipment the night before. Now it was covered with _pieces_ of audio equipment, the skeletons of record players, CD players, and even an 8-track player, and various tools and bits of wire. "I've got a guess."

Hartley shrugged his shoulders. "Mom and Dad go ballistic if I play music, and I've been bored. This seemed like a win-win."

Rachel cast a nervous glance at Hartley's ankle monitor. "Hon…could you, that is…"

"Yeah, I could remove this if I wanted. And keep it functioning too. If I timed it right, I could give myself an eight hour head start before anyone realized I wasn't just in bed." He held out his leg and gave his ankle a little twirl. "Does the fact that I'm still here win me some good-faith and trust points?"

Based on Rachel's horrified expression the answer to that was a decided no. Someone seemed to have a hard time grasping that her troubled little scapegrace had actually grown into a skilled and reasonably effective supervillain.

Rachel gathered up the sound dampeners, cast a glance at the dismantled audio equipment on the table, and gave herself a little shake. "Hartley, I don't want you hiding things from us like this."

"Does that mean I can play my flute?"

"Where did you even get that monstrous thing?" she nearly shrieked.

David frowned as a suspicion formed. "Hartley, _have_ you removed the ankle monitor?"

Hartley frowned, then dramatically flopped onto his bed. "I don't think you guys get it. I've been stuck in here for _two weeks_. I have never actually served that much of any of my sentences before and I am fucking bored. I'm trying to be good, but it's hard. I just wanted to play my flute. I didn't hypnotize anyone. I don't see what the big deal is."

"I'll talk to him," David said in a low voice, intercepting Rachel on her way to Hartley where she no doubt intended to deliver quite the lecture. She paused, considered for a moment, and then gave a quick nod.

"Yes, that's probably for the best. Thank you, David." She swept out of the room still holding the sound dampeners and then slammed the door behind her.

David sat down beside Hartley on the bed. "Are you being difficult on purpose?"

"Difficult? Am I really being that difficult?" Hartley looked up at him out of wide, incredulous eyes and David realized with a pang of frustration that he was behaving in full sincerity.

"Hartley, you just risked your parents' support on being able to play a flute. Can you see the flaw in your priorities?"

"I'm trying to keep my sanity. I'm cooped up like a prisoner right now-"

"Because you _are_ a prisoner!" David exploded. "You've broken the law, repeatedly and so far unapologetically. You're supposed to be serving some serious jail time and your parents are working on helping you avoid the just penalties you've entirely earned with your illegal actions."

Hartley rolled onto his side and leaned on an elbow. He studied David with a curious expression. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised considering you're a cop and all, but you place an awful lot of faith in the inherent justice of our legal system, don't you?"

"We're a society of law-"

"And you're a person of color. You must be aware of how unevenly the law is applied."

David frowned at him. "The fact that I'm profiled every now and again doesn't justify you putting on a silly costume and robbing completely unaffiliated people."

Hartley pouted at him, then fell back against the mattress and let out a sigh. "Fine, you can win this round. I don't want to spend your visit bickering. I get plenty of that without you joining forces with my mother."

It finally dawned on David just how miserable Hartley looked. It hadn't really hit him before, since he was caught up in his frustration that Hartley had put himself in these circumstances to begin with. David felt that, much as he cared about the man, Hartley did deserve some punishment for his crimes, and house arrest in a mansion appeared to him to be getting off light.

From the looks of it, this light punishment was taking quite the psychological toll. The part of David's mind ruled by his devotion to law enforcement and justice felt a bit of satisfaction; after all, prison sentences weren't supposed to be easy. But the compassionate part of his nature that had fallen for Hartley to begin with lamented the fact that his boyfriend (he still felt a bit giddy even thinking that word) was suffering.

"I'm sorry if it feels like we're ganging up on you. For the record, I'd much rather be siding with you but you're not exactly prone to behaving sensibly."

"By your standards."

"And society's standards."

"I don't place much value on this society's definitions of right and wrong." Hartley swung up into a sitting position. "Seriously, can we please drop this for tonight?"

"I have a bit more to say on the subject first. I want you to know that I do have an endgame in sight and that I'm not allying myself with your parents just to hurt you. Frankly, I don't like them that much either and I sympathize greatly with your teenage self. It's…not exactly pleasant being here."

Hartley nodded. "People think because I grew up in a mansion that I never had any 'real' problems. Oh, the stories I could tell about the unhappiness money can buy." He tugged on his earlobe for some inscrutable reason. It seemed like an involuntary thing, but David found the action odd. The haunted look on Hartley's face struck him with a lot more force. It made him want to take Hartley in his arms and soothe him, and then he remembered that it was now perfectly acceptable for him to do so, so he did.

Hartley curled against him and let out a satisfied little murmur. "This is much better than being scolded. So what's your endgame then?"

"Well, as you're aware your parents are already at work getting your criminal record wiped. Once that's through, the goal would be to see you become a productive member of society. You were right about your parents wanting your involvement with their company to be absolutely minimal. With your socialist leanings, they don't think you could manage it and still keep it profitable."

"You mean they don't think it's moral for heirs and heiresses to live within reasonable means when they've so successfully exploited the labor of others that they should have mansions and palaces and private jets and all that bullshit."

David bit back on a laugh. "You're very cute when you get ruffled like that."

"Don't patronize my politics, please. I'm being serious."

"I know, and I still can't help being amused that the supervillain is this concerned with inequality and injustice. You do battle with a member of a team that calls itself the Justice League," David pointed out.

Hartley hid his face in David's chest and muttered something about calling it the Status Quo League instead. David didn't bother suppressing his warm chuckle at that and fondly brushed his fingers through Hartley's bangs. He'd gone in hoping their position in the embrace would be reversed, but now that he was here he couldn't say he really minded. He liked playing with Hartley's hair.

"Your parents want to see you settled into a respectable career," David continued. "For my part, I'd like to see you involved in something you were passionate about that doesn't have anarchist tendencies."

"I'm a socialist, not an anarchist."

"You're not a terribly responsible socialist, darling. You have a horrible tendency to make your own causes look bad to those who are more middle-of-the-road."

Hartley let out a grumpy noise and shifted a little, turning his face towards the window. "You're a jerk sometimes, you know that?"

"From what I've been told, I'm a jerk most of the time. You're the only person who doesn't seem to mind it."

"Yeah, well you're pretty. Like I said before, guys will overlook a lot for looks and brains." Hartley leaned up and dropped a casual peck on his lips. "So, what? Are you going to try to get me to reform entirely and become a goody-goody Status-Quo Leaguer?"

David's expression must have indicated how distasteful he found that notion, because Hartley almost fell over laughing. "Look, you've said it yourself, the Flash breaks the law just as frequently as you do. He just has better PR swaying public opinion to his side. I am not fond of the way he works around the law for his ends. We've had to craft special legislation for criminals brought in under Flash-related circumstances just so they don't end up out on the streets right away from having their right to due process and protection from illegal search and seizure violated."

"So what you're saying is…"

"I _hate_ superheroes," David said, anger dripping from his tone. "Possibly more than you do." He was pretty sure more people in law enforcement than not agreed with him on that, which went triple for anyone involved in the courtroom aspect of the process.

"Okay, got it." Hartley was smirking at him.

"I think you should consider being a musician."

"Oh, I tried that once." Hartley nudged at the flute still resting on the end of his bed with his sock-clad toe. "My parents wouldn't go for it at all. I actually got into Juilliard, you know. But they wouldn't throw their money away indulging my waste of a hobby, so they wouldn't let me go. Dad tried me in just about every Ivy in the League under stupid majors like business or accounting, and they wouldn't let me take any classes I cared about. So I kept getting myself kicked out and every time I came home I asked them if they were ready to let me study music yet. They never caved."

"They might now. Plus…you're, how can I put this?" David knew he wasn't sensitive enough to have this conversation without ruffling Hartley's feathers, but he wished he were. "You're pretty terrible at talking to your parents. Almost as terrible as they are at talking to you," he added, trying to soften the blow. Hartley only looked mildly indignant, so he supposed it must have worked. "If you let me speak on your behalf we might be able to get somewhere. I've already been praising your interest in music and the arts to your mother, and I've gotten her to admit that you're uniquely talented."

"Really?" Hartley didn't look like he believed him, so David sighed and disclosed the full context of the statement.

"She did say you ought to be, considering how much time and money you wasted with instructors, but I still think the admission was a positive starting off point."

"Ah huh." He continued to look skeptical.

"Let me work on them, Hartley. At this point, I think they'd like to see you working at anything other than supervillainy. Besides, it's not like you really need them to come around on a potential music career. They could make the pursuit easier for you, but you still have the talent and abilities to get where you want on your own. You just need to focus."

"And let them clear my record."

David smirked. "Yes, that too. Look, if they won't send you to Juilliard I could at least send you to Central Community. I'm not sure what kind of credentials that would get you, but it is within the realm of financial possibility for an assistant director of a crime lab. I've almost even got my own student debt paid off, and without that burden I might even be able to get you through a four year program."

Hartley looked horrified. "David! I'm not going to let _you_ pay for a degree for me. Even an associates! That would be ridiculous."

"I'd do it though. You'd be so happy if you got to work with music professionally…" And David wouldn't have to worry about his personal safety. "I'd like to see you settled into a career you found as fulfilling as I find mine to be."

Hartley's face softened with a smile. "Oh, I see. Ladder climbing makes you happy, so you want that for me too. David, I'm…I have very different priorities for you. I don't need a respectable job to make me happy. I mean, it wouldn't hurt. I certainly wouldn't mind getting to play flute professionally and working with a symphony or something, but it won't break my heart if I never set foot in an orchestra pit."

"Well what do you want out of life?"

"To be with people I love and admire and to feel like my life is doing more good for the world than harm. So far that's been rather tricky as a Rathaway. I'm not sure reconciling with my family is going to help me out all that much."

"It's an admirable goal when you put it like that," David said. He could see how that had turned into rebellion and supervillainy. The Rathaways had done a terrible job trying to nurture their compassionate, gifted child. David suspected that a lot of the problem stemmed from their failure to listen to him, which quite naturally resulted in Hartley not even really trying to communicate with them anymore.

"Hartley, will you at least work with them on keeping you out of jail?" David asked.

"Of course. That's definitely in my best interest. Frequent family dinners and getting a four year business degree are decidedly not though."

David gave a curt nod. "That is most definitely something we're in agreement on."

Hartley gave him a gentle nudge that pushed him back against the pillows. "You look like you're an inch from passing out. Let's stop talking about the heavy stuff and just cuddle for a little while, okay?"

"That sounds good." David settled against the pillows and Hartley curled up beside him. He looked almost impish with the way he was smiling. They were close enough that David could count the freckles on the bridge of his nose.

"How's work? Are you getting by okay despite the lack of peanut butter cookies and surprise lattes?"

"Urgh…I don't even want to think about work. Your old coworkers are having some kind of turf war with each other, from what we can tell. And there's a new one. Some idiot kid with a prank theme. His gimmick is legitimately to be a pain in the ass. He's calling himself the Trickster…Hartley?"

"It's nothing," Hartley murmured, in a subdued tone that conveyed to David that whatever it was, it was actually quite important. David mustered enough energy for a stern look and Hartley relented. "I'm just…not looking forward to telling the guys that I'm out now. When we were fighting, Cold went out of his way standing up for me. This is a shitty way to pay him back."

"He went out of his way for you? Hartley, you almost bled to death."

"I know, but that was my own stupid fault. Mick tried to call a crime doctor and I wouldn't let him, and then Len told me to get help if I was going to leave and I didn't. I know you probably won't believe this, but not all of the Rogues are that bad."

David caressed the side of Hartley's face. "I'm rather fond of one of them." But he was hoping for an opportunity to _destroy_ the ones who had almost cost him his beautiful musician out of their bigotry and carelessness.

Hartley let out a strained laugh, a beautiful smile on his face. "Thanks. I'm still trying to process that. I'm pretty sure you're out of my league."

"Ah yes, the stern and controlling prematurely middle aged workaholic is far above the talented, charming, and stunning young idealist."

"I'm a pain in your ass and you know it. But thank you for sticking around. Most guys wouldn't." His gaze lowered, and once again David got the feeling that he was getting hints of a deeply personal and lingering pain from Hartley's past. He was curious, but he also knew better than to press Hartley about it. They'd been dating for a day and had only known each other for a couple of months; he was sure he'd learn Hartley's secrets in time.

David promised himself that if nothing else, he would do his best to keep Hartley from collecting any new emotional scars. He pulled Hartley close for a slow, tender kiss.

"Hartley, right now I want nothing more in the world than to be where you are," David said, surprising even himself with the truth of the statement. He knew part of that came from almost having lost Hartley in such a dramatic fashion, but with how his thoughts had been centering on Hartley even before the stabbing there was a chance that might have been the case even without the man's near-death.

That earned him another one of those breathtaking, unguarded smiles. Hartley brushed his fingers down the side of David's face, fingertips dancing over his cheekbones and settling on the indifferent stubble that David was considering growing into a beard. "So…in addition to getting me all fitted out for a respectable career, what are your other plans for this endgame of yours? Where are _we_ going?" Hartley asked. "By the way, I love that we're a we. It's fun to say."

"It is kind of nice to hear." David shrugged. "I'm not sure. This is pretty new to me, so I'm going to have to defer to your experience."

Hartley studied him, looking puzzled and a bit frustrated. "Wait…have you never had a boyfriend before?"

"I've had…understandings with men before, but not anything I'd consider a relationship." David restlessly tapped his fingers where they'd been resting on Hartley's hip. "I told you, I don't date well. You're the first person to show enough patience with me to want to."

"That can't be it. Maybe you just don't put yourself out there enough because of the closet, or being focused on work or something. David, you're direct with people and you're a little cold sometimes, but you're not actually a jerk. You know that, right?"

"Hartley, I don't even know most of my coworkers' names."

"Well, yes, but you're aloof and a little shy. You're also a serious worker, so I'm guessing you're not the dude hanging out at the water cooler pulling people into conversation. It doesn't make you a bad person. I mean think about it, we wouldn't have become friends if I hadn't gone out of my way to get to know you. You're just really private."

David let it drop. Hartley was obviously fond enough of him to overlook his shortcomings, and David didn't see the point in correcting him about it. Besides, it was kind of nice to have at least one person think he wasn't a jerk.

David ended up dozing while Hartley happily rambled to him about subjects that interested him, chiefly music and Marxism, and then at his request Hartley played the flute for him for a little while. After what seemed no time at all, Rachel tapped on the door and informed them that it was one in the morning.

David started out of bed and almost tripped over his feet, but Hartley caught him. "You don't understand. I need to be at the office by seven, which means I need to be up by six to have enough coffee in me for seven o'clock coherence, and lately I've been staying until seven at night-"

"David, calm down." Hartley sat him on the bed, keeping one slender hand resting on his shoulder. "Mom, can't he just stay the night?"

"I…I suppose the guest room by the den is in order."

"Mom…" That was most definitely a wheedling tone.

"Don't be ridiculous, Hartley. You can't have a guest spend the night _in your room_." She looked scandalized.

"Why not? We're just going to sleep. Like I'd want to do anything in my parents' house anyway. That'd be weird."

"Oh, all right. Just don't tell your father." She was a bit stiff and fidgety when she wished them goodnight, and seemed happy to be closing the door on them.

Hartley grinned. "See? My mom likes you. She doesn't always get along with nice people, let alone actual jerks."

"Mm hm." David distractedly murmured while he set an alarm on his cellphone. He'd still have to get up earlier than he was used to so he could drive home and shower before work, but he was relieved not to have to get on the road right that second.

Hartley tossed a pair of sweatpants on his lap and what appeared to be an adult sized Power Rangers t-shirt. David could feel his eyebrows shoot up in response. "Please tell me you didn't actually wear this when you were nineteen."

"Hey, the Green Ranger was one of my first crushes. Seriously, Tommy's half the reason I decided to grow my hair out."

"Ah. Well I do like your hair long." David started undoing the buttons to his shirt, but then he noticed that he had an audience. "Should I do a striptease?"

"I'm having a hard time imagining such a thing, so I think you'd better."

David rolled his eyes and went back to his task. Hartley unabashedly watched him change into the ridiculous t-shirt, even going as far as to whistle when David un-sexily shucked his work shirt and was topless for a grand total of three seconds. "You're incorrigible."

"You're sexy. The sooner you admit it, the better." Then Hartley unabashedly wriggled out of his skinny green jeans and pulled off his socks. When he gracelessly sprawled over the bed, he was wearing a pair of green and white checked boxer shorts with his t-shirt. He took out his elastic, set it on the windowsill, and then combed his fingers through his hair, shaking it out. David was temporarily mesmerized by the sight.

He noticed David watching him. "You know, I have more sound dampeners." He wagged his eyebrows and David laughed.

"Some other time. I really do need to get to sleep." And he'd rather their first time not be at Hartley's parents' house.

Hartley shrugged. "Suit yourself." Before settling in for the night, he reached under one of the pillows and extracted a little plastic container, similar to the ones kids kept their retainers in. He extracted filmy pieces of skin tone colored plastic and placed them over his ears.

"What are those?" David asked.

"They're kind of like earplugs. I need them to sleep."

"Ah."

Hartley slid under the blankets, curling up on the side closer to the window. Once David was changed into the pajama pants, he turned off the light and then settled in next to Hartley.

"Hartley?"

"Mm?"

"How many sound dampeners did you make, exactly?"

"…go to sleep, David."

* * *

_A/N: I am fully aware this chapter was mostly conversation and that not much really happened. Sorry about that. I have fun writing these kinds of rambling exposition-filled conversations. I promise to get the action going again in the next chapter :)  
_


	6. Chapter 6

David's alarm went off at five thirty. Hartley's response was to roll away from him and pull a pillow over his head. It was hard to tell with the muffling effect of the pillow, but he was pretty sure Hartley slurred out something along the lines of, "Kill it with fire."

David blearily rubbed at his eyes with one hand, and flung out the other to snatch up his phone. He managed to shut the alarm off and then he dropped right back against his pillow. He was severely tempted to call out. Four hours of sleep hadn't been enough to recover from his recent stresses, and a luxurious bed with a slumbering redhead in it looked worlds more inviting than his office.

But David had already used two sick days when he'd been taken hostage by Captain Boomerang, and besides that, the criminal element of Central City was far too busy for him to consider taking more time off. So, very reluctantly, David pried himself out of bed and shrugged out of the comfortable clothing Hartley had loaned him for the night, and put on his rumpled office clothes. He shoved his phone into the pocket of his slacks, then knelt down on the bed and leaned over Hartley to drop a kiss by his temple (he had to remove the pillow to do so).

Hartley's eyelashes fluttered for a second before he managed to crack his eyes open. "S'asshole o'clock, y'know. You should just come back to bed. Mom'n Dad like you…well, Mom does. Kind of. You don't _really_ need to work for a living."

"I hope you're joking."

"Yes, I'm joking." Showing surprising dexterity considering he'd still looked half-asleep, Hartley reached up and pulled David flat against the mattress with him. In consideration of morning breath, he dropped his kisses along David's jaw and neck instead of his mouth. He nuzzled against him like a sleepy, incredibly needy cat. "Not about wishing you could stay though."

"I'll see you later. Try not to do anything foolishly short-sighted while I'm gone, please?"

Hartley rolled his eyes. "I wanted to take a quick walk today, but I suppose I'll stay in if it pleases you."

"I appreciate it. Goodbye, Hartley."

"Bye. Have a good day at work."

The circumstances weren't exactly ideal, but leaving for work with the well wishes of a pretty young boyfriend in his ears was much nicer than his usual morning routine. David was still exhausted and not exactly thrilled to be setting out for a long day dealing with the petty actions of a bunch of grown men in spandex, but he wasn't as grumpy as he might have been.

* * *

"Where are we with Scudder's case?"

"Hard to tell. That new one planted a bunch of red herrings on the scene. We can't even know for sure if it _was_ Scudder at this point."

"What are you talking about? I just read that the scene was covered in mirrors."

"Yeah, but they were funhouse mirrors. That could be the new kid. And I didn't mean red herrings like as in the metaphor for misleading people. He literally filled the warehouse with rotting fish."

David pinched the bridge of his nose and let out an irritated breath. The Trickster was in the running for being his second most detested Rogue, right behind Captain Boomerang. "Well what _can_ we pin to the crime scene?" David snapped.

"If the whole heist wasn't explicitly the Trickster's idea, he was at least there. We've got a wad of chewed bubble gum and someone's behind on his oral hygiene. Walker's gums must be inflamed, because I got a blood sample from it," Patty said.

"Good. That should be enough of a starting off point for the detectives." From what David had gathered, the Trickster was still a teenager. It couldn't be too hard to get him to crack and implicate any accomplices he might have had. "Where are we on the jeweler heist?"

"Um…we haven't been touching that one," Forrest said, then shrank under the look David fixed on him. "It's just, Flash busted Cold and Heatwave. We didn't think we'd have to process the crime scene."

"And that attitude is why half these creeps end up out on the street again!" David fumed. "Look, if a crook is brought in under Flash related circumstances then you need to hit the scene twice as hard, or harder. Superheroics screw up the judicial process, or haven't you noticed? We need to be on our A-game if we don't want these losers to walk on a technicality. Am I clear?"

"Crystal." Forrest slunk back to his desk and prepared to slog through the work on the heist, muttering dismally to himself about how if some people could get the sticks out they might be able to appreciate the Flash for bringing in nut jobs for them.

David collapsed into his chair and rubbed at his temples, willing his headache away. He knew he was losing his cool because of his personal investment in this one, but so help him if Len Snart and Mick Rory went free because of some trivial due process violation from the Flash, heads were going to roll. He was pretty sure Snart was the one who'd tried to patch his boyfriend back together with crazy glue, and they'd both sent Hartley on his way with a literal hole in his back.

It was petty of him, but David wanted them to suffer, and he wanted to contribute to the suffering in any way he could.

"Hey, does anyone know what's up with the Rathaway kid?" Patty asked. "I heard he was pleading out. That's not true, is it?"

"It's what I heard too," Forrest said. He let out a derisive snort. "Must be nice to have all the 'justice' money can buy, huh?"

"Please. It's not like Rathaway was ever all that bad." David winced as soon as the words left his mouth. They'd been entirely involuntary, and it wouldn't have happened if he'd had a full night's rest anytime that week.

When he looked up again his fears were confirmed. All of his coworkers were staring at him in shock, and Patty even looked a little worried about him. The Rathaway lawyers were going to be pissed at him. He wasn't supposed to be talking about Hartley at all.

"Well he wasn't," David insisted, digging his hole a bit deeper now that he'd already started. "He never actually hurt anyone during any of his robberies, and from what the detectives have turned up, most of the money he stole wound up in the hands of charitable organizations."

"Yes, and now those organizations are suffering because their assets are involved in multiple criminal investigations," Forrest observed. "Although I suppose you feel they deserve it for accepting funds from a criminal to begin with?"

"Of course not. Rathaway donated anonymously. They had no idea it was him. Can we get back to work instead of standing around gawking at me? You'd think there wasn't enough to do."

It took a few minutes for everyone to get back into the groove enough for the usual office din to arise. When it did, David was thankful for the anonymity granted by their shared distraction. He gave himself another minute to see if he could will his headache away, and when that failed he determined to power through the thing like always and went back to reading through the file on the warehouse robbery. Consensus seemed in favor of switching the likely perp from Mirror Master to Trickster (it looked like it had only been pegged on Scudder as a knee-jerk reaction to finding mirrors on scene anyway). David finished skimming Forrest's report, then scowled when he saw it was the only one in the folder.

"Where the hell is Allen? Better yet, where is his report on the warehouse?" If he could get away with reading the report without actually talking to Allen, that'd be great for his temper.

Patty's eyes widened. She glanced towards Allen's desk, where of course he wasn't, and then shook her head. "I don't know. I swear he was there a moment ago. Maybe he went to take his lunch."

"Yes, of course. He had to take his lunch break when he realized I was about to discover I didn't have his paperwork. You know what? I'm going to take _my_ lunch. If you can track him down, tell him to have the report on my desk before I get back."

"Just don't head too far downtown, Singh. Flash is doing battle with the Weather Wizard," Forrest informed him.

David scowled. "I'm really hating everything about this week."

* * *

The week from hell dragged on into the month from hell, and then the months from hell, until pretty much the whole season became a migraine parade. Work continued to be stressful, and as David suspected, having authority over his coworkers didn't make him any fonder of most of them. He learned their names, but not for reasons they would have preferred (he was never going to forget the name Cary Bates again, considering his crumb-filled, all but illegible report on Boomerang's latest heist had contributed to the man being held at the station instead of directly transferred to a cell that could handle a Rogue at Iron Heights; Harkness had been on the streets again within hours).

David had just managed to secure the promotion to Assistant Director, but all it made him want was to get promoted to Director. If he was in charge, if he had just a little more authority, he could whip the absent minded, slovenly scientists into shape. And he didn't care how brilliant Allen was or that he was the pet of detective Frye and the love interest of their best blood analyst; if the man didn't start clocking in on time, David was going to unleash all the hell required to get the irresponsible disappearing jack ass fired.

And then there were his non-office hours. He was home so infrequently these days that he was starting to forget what it looked like. Instead of the hours he used to spend lounging in bed reading, or skyping with his parents, or tending to his houseplants, now he was cooped up in stuffy offices either being interrogated by detectives that he counted as colleagues (but no longer anything close to friends) or being told off by the Rathaways and the lawyers for missteps in those interrogations.

There was no doubt that Hartley himself was responsible for a lot of the stress in David's life, but he never thought of holding that against him. The few hours a week he could steal for himself he spent in Hartley's bedroom.

He spent a lot of time talking Hartley out of escape attempts, a feat made needlessly difficult by the fact that the Rathaways wouldn't go without their internet connection. They insisted that they had Hartley's room blocked, which was both endearingly innocent of them and incredibly frustrating in turns because it demonstrated how insistently they were ignoring Hartley's technology based criminal abilities. And when the angry social activist spent most of his day scrolling through his social media accounts reading up on the wrongs of the world it made him itchy to take off his ankle monitor and go confront a corrupted one percenter.

"Hartley, I will personally escort you to as many law abiding, permitted protests as you want, _after_ you've been pardoned and are legally capable of attending them," David said, all but pleading with him.

"Fine." Hartley flopped onto the floor, skinny knees poking out of the holes in the baggy sweatpants he was wearing. "I don't see how I'm the bad guy here though. Vreeland's the one lobbying against paid sick days for his workers."

"Darling, can we go light on the socialism today? Why don't you talk about music again? I like when you talk about music. I don't have to panic over whether or not you're going to put on a costume and start waving around sonic guns when you're talking about music."

Hartley rolled his eyes, but motioned David over to join him. David rested with his back to Hartley's front, his lovely musician's arms folded tightly around him as he grinned down at him. "Sorry. I keep forgetting how much that bugs you. Is work getting any better?"

"No."

"You should quit then."

David made an exasperated noise. "Just because it's difficult doesn't mean it's not worth doing. I love my job. I just hate my coworkers."

"I thought you liked a few of them. You said the girl was okay, and you think Forrest is funny when he's not being insubordinate about it. By the way David, you really ought not to call your coworkers insubordinate. That's the kind of vocabulary that makes people hate their bosses."

"Noted." David sighed. "I don't know how much longer I can keep this up. It'd be better if it didn't feel like it was such a revolving door, but I swear to god…we're working on putting Weather Wizard away this week, and we _just_ gave the DA a tight case against him last week. But there were some irregularities in the case and it all got thrown out. These men are making a complete mockery of our judicial system. We catch them in blatant wrongdoing over and over and over again, but they always wind up out."

"Hm…maybe I shouldn't have bothered with the elaborate escape attempts. It sounds like if I'd found myself a decent lawyer then Flash would have done half my work for me. David, that was a joke."

"It's really not though."

Hartley sighed, and shifted to petting his hair. He shifted them until he had David's head in his lap. It was a sign of how tired and frustrated he was that he just went with it and enjoyed the petting without complaint. "You're grumpy," Hartley observed. "Maybe I will talk about music just so I won't get scowled at this whole visit. I'd wanted to take an interest in your life though. We've been dating for ages now and I still know very little about you compared to how much you know about me."

"Three months counts as ages to you?" David asked.

"Hey, have you ever even gotten this far before?" Hartley gave a strand of his hair a little tug.

"No, and I was up front about that. But you'd made it sound like you'd had relationships before."

"And I have. I just haven't had any particularly good ones. Homophobic control freak jack ass parents followed by a life of crime somewhat limits your options. I did date someone for over a year once though. We even lived together and everything."

David quietly wondered if they'd ever get to that point. He wasn't sure how well they'd manage, being such different people who agreed on so little. But he couldn't deny that the happiest parts of his most recent weeks had been spent in Hartley's bedroom teasing and provoking each other.

David let his eyes drift shut and tried to picture living with Hartley, but he only got as far as seeing his chic and orderly apartment cluttered with concert posters and books on social politics before he let out an involuntary shudder. God, and then the electronics. Hartley would rewire everything. He'd never have a chance of getting his security deposit back. Hell, his pretty little genius might even set the building on fire.

"What's that face about?"

"I was just imagining what it might be like to live with you," David explained. "I had a vision of a burning building, and you remorsefully explaining that you were sure you could get your parents to buy me a new one."

"Jerk." Hartley bopped him on the nose, which was a breaking point for David. He sat up and rested with his arm propped against his knee.

"So you've never set anything on fire tinkering with your gear before?"

"…I've never set an entire _building_ on fire. Accidentally. Shut up. I did take out part of an office building to get away from the Flash once, but that was completely controlled and there was no one in the place. I didn't even singe my cloak."

David gave his head a little shake. "I'm so glad you're leaving supervillainy behind you. How goes the search for music programs?" He'd successfully talked Hartley into pursuing a music career some time ago, and gotten Rachel solidly in their corner in support of the pursuit. Now they just had to swing Osgood around, but David was sure they'd get him to crack by the time Hartley was allowed to leave the house. After all, he'd stopped referring to David as a mongrel surprisingly quickly.

Granted, he'd switched over to racial epithets associated with Arabs, which admittedly wasn't any better…he was almost in the right geographic region. David knew he was grasping at straws by calling that progress, but he needed something.

"I'm leaning towards Keystone State. The commute wouldn't be too bad, and I like their course of study. The professors look pretty cool too. They're not terribly prestigious, but it's a small school and they're given a pretty free reign on designing their curriculums. I'd rather have actual training than all the big names in the world."

David frowned, because he'd liked the idea of Hartley going to Juilliard like he'd wanted to when he'd been a teen. It seemed a crime to him, to work that hard and get through the grueling admissions process and then not get to attend because of the stubborn misplaced pride of his parents. "Hartley, are you sure you aren't settling by looking at Keystone?"

"I'll be fine wherever I go. But I do like the way they structure their courses, and I like the fact that I wouldn't necessarily be the oldest undergraduate in the room."

Hartley got up and started pacing around the room. He'd been fidgeting since David got there. They knew the exact constraints of the ankle monitor by now, so he was thinking of suggesting a walk outside and to the edge of the back garden, but at the same time he himself was exhausted and exercise wasn't high on his list of priorities.

Hartley paced for a few minutes, then stopped mid-step and shook his head. "Get into bed, you weirdo. You don't need to nap on the floor just because I was sitting there a second ago."

"I'm not napping."

Hartley helped him up and then fluffed up some pillows for him on the bed. "I'm not trying to discourage you, because these visits are everything to me right now, but David…you don't need to come out here so often if it's that difficult for you. I-I know you're working really hard right now, and this can't be-"

David shut him up with a kiss. "You're being stupid again, Hartley," he muttered against his lips. Hartley grinned and leaned in for another kiss.

"I'm just saying," Hartley began, while David pulled him down on the bed and kissed along his neck. "Driving out to the middle of ever loving nowhere just to see me as often as this can't be helping with your exhaustion. If you need to cut back, I'll understand."

"And I need you to understand that if I could be here more, I would," David shifted so that they were eye level and stroked Hartley's cheek with his thumb. "I'm not about to give up the highlight of my week just for a few hours of additional sleep. I'll be tired no matter what, so I may as well be happy some of the time."

Hartley's smile was almost bashful. "Your sweet talk is improving. David…thank you. It means a lot that you're sticking with me even though I'm such a pain in the ass."

"Being with you is worth some trivial annoyances. Hartley, I mean it. I'm happy with you." Maybe he'd have to cut back on their banter. It looked like Hartley might have been taking some of it seriously, which was just ludicrous. Circumstances aside, their relationship was what David had always wanted and feared he'd never have. Emotional intimacy had come so easily between them. He only saw things getting better in time, which was why he was fighting so hard for them now.

He hoped Hartley felt the same hope for their future he did.

"I'm really happy with you too," Hartley said. "It just…doesn't seem real. I suppose the big test will come when I'm allowed to leave the house again. Then we'll get tested with normal couple shit."

"Mm." Much as he was looking forward to never having to set foot in the Rathaway mansion again, David did have his concerns about how Hartley adjusting to civilian life might impact their relationship. Plus he was pretty sure the closet was going to start to matter. "Where are we on making you a productive member of society? I don't think I'm as useful to the lawyers as I used to be. I haven't met with anyone since Friday so I'm a bit out of the loop."

"If everything goes to plan, I could be de-ankle monitored this time next week."

"Really? Hartley, that's wonderful."

"Yeah…" He didn't look terribly enthused. "I'm still going to be stuck at the mansion for awhile though. Mom and Dad didn't tackle my rent for me and I haven't been able to leave to take care of it, so I got evicted last month. My bases got seized by some of your colleagues, so I can't just crash there until I get on my feet. Urgh. I want to get out of here so frickin' bad."

"If you're discreet, you can stay with me for a few weeks. I'm not supposed to have a second person on the lease though, so you'll have to be inconspicuous."

"No coming and going through open windows then?" Hartley teased.

"…I still don't even understand how you did that. I lock my windows."

"And I'd be a pretty shitty supervillain if I couldn't get around basic window locks." Hartley hummed thoughtfully, eyes fixed on David as he considered. "I appreciate the offer, but I think it's too early for us to live together. I'll definitely crash at your place a few times when my parents inevitably get on my nerves enough to make me want to ransom the mayor or bomb city hall or something. But I should be able to get set up with a new apartment again in no time. It's just going to be a pain."

"Well, I'd much rather have you sleep on my couch for a few days then see you recklessly destroy your reputation."

"What are you talking about? Ransoming the mayor would make for a pretty sweet rep."

"Hartley…"

"Plus this guy's a total dick. He could use a good scare."

"…"

"…"

"Just because he shot down trans-inclusive bathrooms in the non-discrimination ordinance doesn't mean you should take him hostage. Darling, this is one of those cases where you would be _hurting_ your cause instead of helping it."

"But David-"

"An unhinged openly gay man in a flamboyant costume kidnapping the mayor is not the kind of thing that makes straight people want to trust and aid the LGBT community."

"…well you're no fun."

* * *

David was working his way through a mountain of paperwork (decidedly the worst part of climbing the ladder: he now did inordinate amounts of paperwork that kept him from the kind of hands on crime scene investigating that made the job challenging and rewarding) when he noticed that just about everyone in the office had abandoned their desks to crowd around the doorway and a few windows. He tried to ignore it at first, but it went on for far too long and he felt the need to get everyone back to work. "What are you all doing?"

"Someone just brought in the Pied Piper," Allen said.

"Shit, where the hell did my ear plugs go? Last thing I need's to be doing some gay little cha-cha instead of working on my case," Forrest mumbled, angrily shuffling over towards his desk.

"They didn't 'bring him in' bring him in," Patty pointed out. "He's not in handcuffs or anything. I heard he was just meeting with some detectives and the DA about giving info on a few investigations."

"Oh, that must be part of that plea he's supposed to be taking," Allen said with a nod. "Do you think he's really going to reform?"

"I don't know, but I hope so. He's one of Snart's Rogues. Can you imagine the info he can give us?"

"It'd certainly be a goldmine for the CCPD," Allen agreed.

"Yeah, and a target on Rathaway's back," Forrest said, pretty casually all things considered. "Oh good. Found my earplugs."

"Eh, two birds with one stone. I certainly wouldn't mind if the Rogues started taking each other out for us," a new tech said. He was new enough that David hadn't picked up his name, and had been mentally referring to the guy as chicken-scratch-handwriting, but he just downgraded him to sterilizing-used-instruments-after-every-investigation. He shot a glare at the asshole, who didn't seem to notice. "Maybe they can find a reason to take out the Trickster while they're at it."

"That's a bit harsh," Patty observed, winning herself a few points (and she was already miles ahead of most of the other lab workers in David's book). "Don't get me wrong, Rathaway's a lawbreaker and I'm a little disappointed he's pleading out of serving his sentences. But as far as the Rogues go, he's not really a bad guy. He was always polite to me whenever I had to deal with him."

Their future equipment sterilizer and coffee boy smirked at her. "Yeah, but you're a woman and he's supposed to be one of those queers. He wouldn't care about harassing you. Us normal guys were the ones who had to be on our guard."

Allen's brow furrowed. "I investigated a handful of Rathaway's scenes and dealt with him personally during two of the investigations and I never had a problem. He's actually pretty nice for a criminal. Kind of freakishly nice, really. I think we stand a pretty good chance of reforming him. Here's hoping we can keep him that way."

"Yes, well, fascinating as this all is, I think the detectives have everything under control and you all have work you could be doing." David hoped he sounded like his typical level of exasperation. He took pains to look grumpy and frustrated the way he usually was when his techs were shirking their work, and once everyone was back at their desks he took a few deep breaths.

His hands were shaking. What was the DA thinking, having Hartley give information on the other Rogues? Of course they'd go after him in retaliation. They'd already tried to kill him over a petty argument. If he did any actual damage to them…shit. That couldn't be the terms of his plea.

David was tempted to run over and see for himself what was going on. It took a great deal of effort to talk himself out of it. If he went blundering in he could seriously mess everything up. He'd have to trust Hartley's judgment. Hopefully he could find a way to give the detectives something they could work with without pissing off his former cohorts.

David closed his eyes and rubbed at his temples. He loved many things about Hartley Rathaway, but the man's judgment was decidedly not on that list.

* * *

To Hartley's great surprise, David made it back to the mansion before he did. The interview at the police station had taken longer than he'd expected, but he'd also counted on David clocking in some more overtime, since that had been the trend ever since his promotion. It looked like he'd gotten out on time for once.

Hartley walked past David's car and followed his father inside. Osgood went off into his study without saying anything, so Hartley sat down in the front room to put his ankle monitor back on, then set off in the house to look for David. He found him in the parlor anxiously pacing by the windows, while Rachel sat on a sofa looking through a catalog.

"Oh, dearest, you're back. How did everything go?" Rachel asked.

"Eh, it went."

David's attention was so focused it was almost frightening. Hartley took an involuntary step back towards the doorway. "What did they ask you? Did they demand information about the Rogues? You didn't give them anything, did you? Because we are perfectly capable of collecting as much information as the DA could possibly need on any of the Rogues without you putting yourself in danger like that."

"In danger?" Rachel scoffed. "Hartley won't be in danger, Mr. Singh, I assure you. Sweetheart, you did cooperate with the detectives and the district attorney, didn't you?"

"I didn't really have much to tell," Hartley said. "Most of what I know's months out of date. I doubt anyone's using the bases they had the last time I hung out with them, and all the heists they were plotting that I knew about have been carried off by now." Which was the story he was most definitely sticking to. "I tried, but I think I was fairly useless."

"Ah, well that's a shame." Rachel turned her attention back to her catalog. "Oooh, that would look lovely in the dining room."

David still looked worried. Hartley tilted his head to the side, and the two of them went out into the hall. "Hartley, how come you didn't tell me being an informant was a condition of your plea?"

"I don't know. I figured it would have occurred to you on your own, I guess." Hartley frowned. "It's really not that big a deal. I didn't tell them anything, and I did so in a way that made them think I was cooperating. What's that look about? I'm not going to rat, so don't try to talk me into it."

"I don't want you to rat," David insisted. "That's the last thing I want."

"Really?" He'd expected David to be all pissy that he wasn't cooperating fully with the police's pursuit of truth and justice, or however else he wanted to spin it.

"Of course not." To Hartley's immense surprise but not his displeasure, David pulled him into a tight hug. He let out a shaky breath as he pressed Hartley close. "I don't want those psychos to have any reason to go after you. Once was enough for me."

"Oh, David…don't worry. I'm going to be fine. Cold wouldn't let attack me for something like that."

David let out a derisive snort. "You've got a lot more faith in the moral fortitude of those criminals than I do."

"Yes, well that's because I know them. C'mon, let's go upstairs and snuggle." Hartley tugged him towards the front stairs before he could argue, and a few minutes later he was closing his bedroom door behind them.

David went right back to his moody pacing. He had a tendency to look agitated and cranky, but there was definitely a genuine concern to this crankiness. Hartley wasn't sure how to tackle that. Get stabbed in the back by your coworkers once, and suddenly your boyfriend would never believe you again when you told him you could take care of yourself.

Whereas it was touching to have someone who actually cared what happened to him, Hartley had to admit that he was a bit irritated at being treated like he was made out of glass.

Shrugging it off, he went over to his closet and rooted around for something comfortable to wear that he still fit into. He'd worn slacks and a nice sweater to the police station, figuring he ought to make as responsible an impression as he could. Now that he was home the formal clothes were coming off and he was going to wear something that made him feel like himself.

Hartley shucked off the sweater first thing and tossed it in his hamper, then contemplated the row of ancient band shirts in front of him. He turned his head when he realized David had stopped pacing. Hartley grinned and waggled his eyebrows. "Like what you see?"

"S-sorry…"

"David, you don't have to be sorry. We're dating. You're allowed to check me out. Actually, I'm a vain creature so I rather expect you to." He took off the slacks, wiggling his hips a little unnecessarily as he did so, and remained standing in front of the closet in his underpants. He hooked his thumbs in the elastic waistband, keeping his eyes on David. "Want me to ditch these too?"

"Hartley, no. We're in your parents' house. They're both home." He looked scandalized.

"One, the house is gigantic and they're at the other end of it. Two, I've still got fully functional sound dampeners and lots of music I could blast to drown out any noise we might make. Three, since I'm still under house arrest and will be for at least another week, we will be fucking abstinent if you can't get past your hang ups about getting down in the mansion. And I don't _want_ to be abstinent. I've _been_ abstinent and I'm sick of abstinence and I really want to have sex with you."

"You do realize that pouting about all this in your underpants is more petulant than erotic, right?"

Hartley jutted out his lower lip. "Come on, David, I'm being serious. We've been going out for months, we've been through a legit life and death crisis together, and you've endured the horror of meeting my parents over and over and over again. This is one of the most serious relationships I've ever had, and you are without a doubt the best boyfriend I've ever had. No one's ever treated me like I mattered before. I…I really want to be with you."

David let out a sigh, the kinder version of his habitual smirk forming as he crossed the room and stood in front of Hartley. He touched the side of Hartley's face, stroking his fingers along his cheek in an affectionate caress. "Darling, I want to be with you too. I feel very strongly for you, and that makes me want to approach this the right way. And the right way isn't furtively getting each other off in your childhood bedroom while we worry that your parents might walk in on us."

"Okay, so what's the right way?"

"Well, cliché though it may be, I'd at least like to take you to dinner first. We've been dating for months, but thanks to your house arrest we haven't actually gone on a single date."

Hartley frowned, and ceded him the point. He'd rather enjoyed cuddling up to David while they watched movies on his obsolete old laptop, but he wasn't willing to count those nights as actual dates.

"I want to romance you, Hartley. I think you'd enjoy it, and not only that, I think you deserve it," David continued. "We'll wait until you're a free man again. I'll use a personal day from work, and we'll only have each other on our minds. We'll get dinner, or maybe visit one of those museums you were telling me about-"

"The places I used to rob," Hartley interrupted with a smile. He pressed himself against David and dropped his head on the man's shoulder. "Keep going. I like the sound of this. So we'll get dinner someplace fancy and then I think we should visit the Central Fine Arts Museum. They have a wonderful collection of antique instruments I'm sure I could bore you to death gushing over."

"It wouldn't be boring at all. I love the way your eyes light up when you talk about something you're passionate about. Your face flushes a bit too. I've wondered sometimes if it's the same kind of heat you'd display under more amorous circumstances."

"A guy did tell me once that I made my o-face at a concert during a guitar solo."

David's romantic mood was entirely thrown by the giggle fit Hartley's comment provoked. David wound up pressing his face against Hartley's naked shoulder while his own shoulders shook trying to contain his laughter. "So concerts make good foreplay then?" David finally asked in a breathless voice.

Hartley shook his head. "Concerts are definitely great for stimulation, but they're most likely to end in my dragging you off to the bathroom for sketchy sex. You know, depending upon who's playing."

"Of course. Well, my point is, I want our first time together to be romantic. I want to take my time learning your body, and I _don't_ want to do so somewhere we both feel oppressed."

"Fair enough." Hartley sighed. "I'm just getting sick of waiting. I've got a really hot, smart, brave, and overall amazing boyfriend, and I'm not allowed to sleep with him…It's a fucking tease. It's just really unfair."

"Believe me Hartley, I get it. I'm in the same boat." David's smirk went to its habitual half-mocking, mostly amused level. "At least your hot boyfriend isn't rubbing up against you in his underpants." He trailed his hands down Hartley's back, seeming to enjoy the feel of warm skin under his palms despite his teasing words.

Hartley let out a pleased hum and wrapped his own arms around David's waist. "If my hot boyfriend wanted to prance around in his tight little boxer briefs, I certainly wouldn't complain."

"I think we should leave the prancing to you, dar…" he trailed off when his hand touched the jagged scar just next to Hartley's shoulder blade. David's complexion went startlingly close to the color of sour milk, and he pulled away to sit down on the bed with his head in his hands.

Hartley quickly pulled a Pearl Jam t-shirt over his head, threw on a pair of jeans, and without bothering to zip them or do the button, hurried to sit down next to David and took one of his hands in both of his. "Hey, there's no reason to freak out. I'm fine. I'm going to be fine, I promise."

"I would feel so much better if we could just get those men behind bars and keep them there."

Hartley kissed his cheek. "You do whatever you feel you need to, David. If locking up the Rogues with the CCPD makes you feel safe, I certainly won't complain. But I'm not worried. They're not my favorite people in the world, but I know them. They…they wouldn't waste their time on me."

David squeezed his hand back. "You're a lot more significant than you realize, Hartley. Your abilities, that clever mind of yours…and right now, that worries me. I don't want anything to happen to you."

"I'll be careful. I wish you'd stop worrying so much though."

"Darling, unless you somehow learn the arts of risk assessment and self-preservation, then the day I've stopped worrying about you is the day I've stopped caring. I'm pretty sure neither of those things are ever going to happen."

"Urgh…for the billionth time, David…just because I see the world a little differently from you does not mean I don't have self-preservation instincts or risk assessment skills. You happen to be the weirdest mix of boringly conventional and paranoid." Hartley playfully whapped his arm. "I think the paranoia comes from being around all those crime scenes all the time. You need to lighten up. Stop seeing the worst case scenario everywhere."

"It is a part of the job that's difficult to turn off." David closed his eyes and gave himself a little shake. When he looked Hartley in the eye again he was calmer. "I'm sorry. Clearly I haven't worked through the traumas from that night when I found you in my apartment."

"Yeah, well color me unsurprised. You've been working yourself to death straight through _since_ that night. How are you supposed to process anything like that?" Hartley sighed. He gave his leg a vicious shake. "As soon as this blasted thing comes off, I'm going to put so much energy into taking care of you. You're going to get peanut butter cookies again, for starters. And I've been thinking about learning how to do massages because I think that'd be nice for you after a long day of terrorizing your lab techs."

"They really think you'll be free by next week?"

Hartley nodded. "Next week. How cool is that?" He hid his nerves well enough, and smiled into the kiss he and David shared, but he was pretty sure David was just as scared as he was. Once house arrest ended, things were going to start to get real in their relationship.


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N _

_Hey guys! Sorry it took so long to get this done. Been busy lately with some RL stuff but I'm getting back to work on the writing now, yay!  
_

_So...I'm introducing Fury in this chapter and he's pretty similar to the way I represented him in the Pavement Cracks series, which is to say he's an abusive partner. I'm not saying that Fury always has to be written this way or that I think it's canon. I know lighthearted romantic fics can be done with this couple. I've seen and enjoyed them in the past, and I don't mean to hate on Fury. That being said, I think he makes an incredibly convincing abusive boyfriend based on his one appearance where he demonstrated temper problems and a possessive attitude towards his exboyfriend. It works for the fic, so that's what I'm doing. If you think Earl and Hartley should be fluffy and romantic, please write and post that fic because I'd love the hell out of reading it :)_

_Also, I feel like I've made Piper and Cold a bit closer than the canon represents them. Sorry-not-sorry. It's fun (plus I don't expect anyone will really mind...)_

_There are also some Golden Glider feels in this chapter. All I can say there is that I'm basing her off the New 52, not Preboot, where she's a bit...different. When she takes over the Rogues she shows a lot of animosity towards Piper and I wanted to try to explain that a little in this fic, so that's what's going on there. Also, still getting used to the fact that she's dating Sam and not Roscoe. I'm starting to come around on it, but at the moment it's as awkward to type as that o on the end of Mark's name :P_

* * *

Hartley showed up at David's the same night the ankle monitor came off.

They'd gone to dinner to celebrate (a small place in Keystone; good food, eclectic music, and little chance of bumping into anyone David knew). Even though they'd been romantically involved for over three months it was their first time out together, so Hartley insisted on calling it their first date. They'd held hands a lot, Hartley impulsively bought David some roses when they happened to pass by a florist, and they ended their pleasant night with a romantic kiss when David dropped Hartley off at the mansion.

Two hours later, Hartley was knocking on David's door with red eyes and an overnight bag.

"That was quick," David observed. He stepped aside to let Hartley dramatically stomp into the living room.

"If you don't want me to revert to supervillainy you will be really nice to be right now," Hartley said, voice small and trembling with barely suppressed rage. "Seriously. I want cuddles, and I want you to tell me I'm amazing, and also some junk food wouldn't hurt."

David took the overnight bag from him and left to set it down in the bedroom. When he returned he found Hartley on the couch with his knees hugged to his chest, head down so that his mane of fiery hair hid his face. "Darling, what happened?"

"Operation Take Over Hartley's Life and Remake Him Into a Good Little Society Toolbag began in earnest. They cornered me in the parlor and started making all these stupid demands, but of course they wouldn't come out and say that's what they were doing, oh no. Because if they came out and said exactly what they meant I'd have an easier time telling them to go fuck themselves." Hartley sat up and flipped his hair out of his face before continuing. If David had to guess, he'd say any tears that might have fallen to redden the lovely blue eyes had probably been shed in anger.

"So Mom picked out this _lovely_ little condo for me in a gentrified neighborhood in Keystone," Hartley continued, waving his hand as he spoke and pitching his voice in a mean imitation of his mother's. "It's artsy, so she thinks I'll like it, and it'll be a great investment once I want to buy a house and start my family. She's found an egg donor and a surrogate for me, by the by, and apparently one of her billionaire friends has a legal ward that's probably gay, so if I want to date a white boy from a good family she'd be happy to introduce us."

"Wait, I thought I was getting along with your mother." David's face fell. He actually looked hurt.

Hartley cursed under his breath, and found one more reason to resent his mother. "Oh, David…I'm sorry. My mom's…" He struggled for a moment, trying to find a way to explain it. "She likes you as much as she's capable, I think. But mostly she just found you useful. I mean, you were pestering me about the same shit she wanted to, but you were much more persuasive so you made a good ally. She'd happily ally herself with you again, and she'll pretend to be civil, but really she's not all that different from my dad. She's…she's pretty fucking racist."

"I had noticed, but it seemed more obliviousness than anything mean-spirited. I didn't think she wanted us to break up. She knows how I feel about you. I've told her."

"Yeah, and she knows I'm crazy about you too." Hartley scooched down the couch so that he could tug on David's wrist and pull him onto the cushion beside him. "I believe I requested cuddles."

David tried to look exasperated, but he obediently sat with his back resting against the arm of the couch and Hartley immediately draped himself over his chest.

"My parents have never really given much weight to what I want out of life. They have this habit of deciding what's best for me, no matter how much I plead otherwise. I've gotten pretty good at resisting them though. They're not going to talk me out of my feelings for you."

"That's nice to hear," David said. Hartley had wrapped his arms around David's waist and rested his cheek against his chest, feeling and listening to the rumble of his voice and the steady thump of his heartbeat. "I wasn't particularly concerned about that though. I've noticed and lamented your willful streak, though in this case I think it's serving my interests. I can't honestly say why I'm as bothered as I am. Your father's been calling me a towelhead and a Mohammedian, so it's not like I haven't been dealing with-"

"He called you what?" Hartley sat up, looking adorably confused. "Do people even use Mohammedian anymore? I thought most people just said Muslim."

"Yeah, I'd thought it was an antiquated term. I'm not actually Muslim though, so I'm not exactly an expert on the vocabulary. I have gotten quite familiar with the racial slurs over the years though."

"So Mom's racism threw you because it was stealthy. That makes sense to me, honestly. It hurts more when someone you're starting to trust stabs you in the back." Hartley relaxed back into the embrace, tucking his head under David's chin. "I was hurt too, obviously. I mean, I was starting to think that maybe I'd been misreading Mom when I was a teenager or that maybe she'd changed or something. She's been…uncharacteristically supportive of me lately. So for her to come out with that shit…I dunno. All the illusions that I might start having a good relationship with her went poof. And then I called her a cunt and slammed the door in her face, which was probably a bad idea, come to think of it."

David sighed. "Hartley, I know you think it'll be a strain on our relationship, but I really think you should reconsider living with me until you get your own place."

"I'd rather risk the relationship I was kinda sorta starting to rebuild with my parents than this. I like this. I'm invested in this." Hartley gave David's torso a squeeze to emphasize his words.

"I'll still be working sixty hours a week. Logistically speaking, there probably won't be enough time for living together to strain things."

"Hm…I'll think about it." In that he'd certainly pretend to, if it appeared David.

"Please do. In the meantime, I'd like you to come here before you get to the point of using the c-word on your mother. That's a disgusting thing to call any woman, let alone the woman who gave birth to you."

Hartley rolled his eyes. "But she was being a cunt."

"I'd like it if you wouldn't use that word around me, at the very least."

"Kay. I didn't realize I was pushing a button. I'm sorry." Hartley trailed one of his hands across David's hip, over his belly (he hadn't explored in the detail he wanted to yet, but the suspicion he'd held upon first viewing David had been confirmed; yummy washboard abs!) and rested his palm on David's chest, splaying out his fingers. The t-shirt David was wearing to bed was old and soft, though Hartley would have preferred his warm brown skin for a pillow instead. "David, can I ask you something?"

"Ask me anything. I reserve the right not to answer though."

"Of course. Um…what religion are you? It's not a big deal or anything, I'm just curious. I can't remember if you said if you were Sikh or not, but I think you just evaded answering overall, and if you're not Muslim…"

"I'm a godless scientist, Hartley. I consider myself an Atheist."

"Oh."

"My parents are Sikh though, if that's what you're really asking."

"I was just wondering." Hartley frowned contemplatively as his mind wandered to David's upbringing. He wondered if his parents had brought him to a temple growing up, and if he'd ever shared their faith or if he'd always been skeptical. He wondered how old he'd been when he'd started pulling away.

He kept his thoughts focused on David, and tried not to worry about whether David's parents would feel the same way about him that Hartley's parents felt about David.

"What about you?" David asked. "I assume your family is at least nominally Christian? Considering they sent you to Bible Camp and all."

"They're of the go to church on Christmas and Easter type, yes. They never really tried very hard to instill a faith in me, but I remember liking our church and I liked it when our minister talked about charity. I guess if I had to define my religious thoughts I'd consider myself an Agnostic though."

"Hm…well, that's certainly compatible with an Atheist."

They fell into a comfortable silence. Hartley really had gotten incredibly worked up yelling at his parents, and then taking the bus across town to David's had been surprisingly wearing (it had been awhile since he'd been dependent on public transportation; in retrospect, he should have just hotwired one of his dad's cars). Now that he was starting to calm down exhaustion was catching up to him. He closed his eyes and let out a pleased sigh, relaxing into David's arms and letting some of the tension he'd been carrying go.

David eventually broke the silence. He took long enough that Hartley had settled in for a nap, figuring they were done with their conversation. David's tone was a bit hard to get a read on, but there was definitely an undercurrent of worry, so rather than relaxing, he'd likely been brooding. "Hartley…the fact that we've got such different backgrounds doesn't bother you, does it?"

"Hm? Of course not. How could it? I don't exactly know much about your background," Hartley teased. "I'm interested in learning though."

"I've gotten that. I'm…trying to be more open with you. It goes against pretty much all of my instincts though, so I appreciate your patience. Have you ever dated anyone who wasn't white before?"

Hartley chewed on his lip as he thought about it. "I had a fling with a Hispanic guy once, but that wasn't really a relationship. So no, I've only dated white guys. Um…one of my exes was Polish-American. That's ethnic enough to bug my parents."

"But not recognizably interracial to rational human beings."

"Yeah, well you can always count on widespread homophobia to make up that difference for strangers," Hartley said brightly. "Earl was also severely impoverished and had been all his life. We had plenty of cultural differences to complicate things despite our identically pasty white skin. David, I'm not worried about it. Actually, to be honest I'm a little excited." Hartley sat up and faced David, hoping his expression helped convey his feelings. "I mean, I like _you_. But you've mocked me several times for being a hopelessly idealistic stereotypical liberal white kid. You must have noticed that I find other cultures much more fascinating than my own. And also, I think you're really hot. Light brown skin, thick dark hair, and pretty brown eyes are a part of that."

"Well, I wasn't really thinking of looks, but I have to confess to having been mesmerized by your fair hair on more than one occasion. With all those tones and highlights, I have no idea how you can find my hair interesting. It's all the same color."

"And it has body and texture mine will never have. Mine's all thin and stringy. Yeah, okay, finding you sexy is superficial. But we haven't talked about the deep stuff yet. I don't know much about Sikhism and I don't know where your family is from. I'm guessing India…?"

"Yes, my father was born in India, and my maternal grandparents moved from India to Canada while my grandmother was pregnant with my mother. My mother was just barely born in North America. What about your family?"

Hartley shrugged. "Western European mutts, I guess. We don't really have enough of one particular background to override the rest of it. We're English, German, Scottish, Irish…fucking nothing that tans. By the by, you have to promise not to make fun of the extreme measures I go to to protect my skin in the summer. Sun burns hurt, and ugly floppy hats are my friend."

"Yes, and I'm not exactly thrilled with the idea of you getting melanoma."

"That too."

They spent a little longer chatting about their respective pasts, but as was his habit, Hartley ended up doing the brunt of the talking. He was a little annoyed with himself later, when they'd settled down to go to sleep and he realized he'd missed out on a rare opportunity to learn more about his boyfriend by blabbering on and on about himself.

Then he felt a soft touch to his side. Hartley rolled over so that he was facing David, whom he'd expected to drop right off to sleep as soon as they'd gotten into bed. He had another full day at the crime lab in the morning.

"What's wrong?"

"Are you psychic now?" Hartley asked, wearing a thin smile half in defense. He couldn't believe how easily David could read him. "How did you know I was upset?"

"Your shoulders got tense and you made a sharp breath through your nose. Are you still mad about your parents?"

"No…that's, that's never really going to get better and I stopped expecting it to a long time ago. I just…kinda wish I hadn't bitched so much about my past when you were being communicative with me for once." He tried to say it lightly, like he was mostly joking, but David's expression remained serious.

"Hartley, I'm never intentionally shutting you out. This is one of our differences. I'm just not used to talking about myself, but please don't take that as me hiding. You can ask me anything you want to. I'll answer."

"O-okay. It just…feels like prying."

"Well it is," David said with a smirk. "But I don't mind it when it's you. Equally importantly, I don't mind listening to you talk about your past either. It sounds like you've got a lot of things you need to get off your chest, and correct me if I'm wrong, but it doesn't seem like you're entirely used to being listened to."

"No, I'm not. I…thank you. Fuck, David…I've never had anyone get me like this before."

"Likewise. Now get some sleep, Hartley. My alarm is going off in six hours."

Hartley wrinkled his nose up in distaste. Being a heavy sleeper, David required an inordinate amount of noise to wake him up in the morning. The dampeners Hartley usually wore over his ears brought his super-hearing down to a more manageable level so he could stay asleep without mundane noises jerking him awake, but if he was going to start sharing a bed with David on a regular basis he might have to make something stronger. David's alarm always gave him the worst headache.

David rolled his eyes. "Oh please. It's not like the early hour has anything to do with you. I fully expect you to roll over and go back to sleep once I switch the thing off."

Hartley's brow furrowed. He tried to remember if he'd told David about his implants, and finally registered that he must not have. Granted, he didn't typically disclose that information to people, making it one of the only complicated, painful pieces of his personal history he didn't rant and rave about when given a chance. But still…he'd have to tell David.

But not when the guy was getting ready to face an office full of dramatic and/or incompetent techs on less than a restful night of sleep. He dropped a quick kiss on the side of David's mouth, wished him pleasant dreams, and closed his eyes.

* * *

It was probably because he worked himself half to death during the day (and a good chunk of the night), but for whatever reason David Singh slept like a rock. He'd trained himself to rouse to the sound of set alarms and he jumped to full coherency surprisingly quickly, but once he was down for the night he was dead to the world until his alarm sounded.

Hartley admitted himself to be a bit envious. He had a difficult time falling asleep and staying that way, a direct result of his superhuman hearing. His wearable sound dampeners _helped_, but they only reduced his hearing. Nothing could ever quiet the world for him entirely again, it seemed.

He had the feeling he'd have been a light sleeper even without super-scientific augmentation (not that there was any way to check on that). Even though Rachel and Osgood had steadfastly refused to get him checked out for psychological disorders, insisting that their son was completely normal now that that little birth defect had been rectified, Hartley was pretty sure he suffered depression, insomnia, and some kind of panic disorder. Unlike his parents, he found it comforting to think there was a medical reason his moods spun wildly out of his control and that he wasn't just broken. He'd always wanted to seek out professional help, but his parents had refused, and then selecting supervillainy as a career had made seeking out that help…complicated.

At any rate, Hartley was still a light sleeper, fancy earplugs or no, and he heard movement in the apartment over the sound of David's light snores. Hartley's first instinct was to wake David, in case they needed to get out of there, but then he heard a stifled curse as the intruder knocked over an end table in the living room, and Hartley's heart started to calm back down to its normal rate.

He pulled a pair of David's sweatpants on over his boxers and then ventured out into the living room. Hartley flicked on the light in time to catch Captain Cold struggling to right the upset table and rearrange David's knickknacks the way he'd found them.

"Len, what are you doing here?"

"Wanted to have a chat in private. This seemed like the best place to find you." At least he wasn't wearing the costume. If David somehow woke up, things might be a touch easier to explain to him.

Hartley rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his hand and gestured to the sofa. Unlike David, he didn't jump to full coherence immediately upon waking, and now that his adrenaline was calming down he was starting to feel cranky and sluggish.

"So it's true then?" Len asked. "You're really going legit by screwing a cop?"

"That is how you guys would spin it, I suppose." Hartley sat down across from Len and pushed some hair out of his face.

"I figured Mirror Master's version of the story lacked…what do you call it…nuance? Nuance. So what's really going on, kid?"

"Well, for starters, we aren't actually screwing yet," Hartley informed him.

He expected Len to splutter something about that being none of his business, but he surprised Hartley with an earnest, "Why the hell not? Haven't you guys been together for a few months now?"

"Yes, but I've been under house arrest at my parents' place. It would have been weird."

Len nodded his agreement. "As soon as we got word that was where they were keeping you we expected you back at the base by nightfall, but you never showed. It shoulda been easy enough to bust out of a mansion, which gave me the impression that you didn't want to go."

"I…I was thinking about it." Hartley shot a glance over at the bedroom door. "He convinced me not to. Besides…"

"Boomer didn't do us any favors sticking you in the back." Len let out a disappointed sigh and shook his head. "I knew those idiots and their prejudices were going to come back and bite us in the ass. Well kid, you were a good worker and I'm sorry to lose you. I wish you hadn't run off with a fucking cop, but if that's what you like then I'm not going to be able to talk any sense into you."

"He's not exactly a cop," Hartley said, because to him the distinction was important. "I mean, he works for the police and he has some of the same training, but he's a scientist, Len. It's _way_ sexier."

Len surprised him with a laugh. "Well if you're happy then that's what's important. So you're definitely out?"

Hartley nodded. "Yeah. I've been handed a fresh start, and there's a lot riding on it right now. It's also been fucking forever since I've actually enjoyed the supervillainy. But I won't forget everything you did for me when I was starting out. I can't break the law again, but if I can help you otherwise I will."

"Rumor had it that the pigs were trying to get you to rat on us."

"And they think I gave them all the information I could."

Len nodded approvingly. "That's what I thought. You're a good kid, Hartley. I'm sorry to lose you."

For the first time since he'd made his decision, Hartley was a little sorry to be leaving. But then he cast his gaze back towards the bedroom he'd left, and the sappy smile formed on his face before he was even conscious of it.

Len got up and started for the window. "Good luck, Hartley. Hope we're never on opposite sides." He held out his hand for a shake, which Hartley accepted, and then took off out the open window. Hartley shut and locked it behind him, allowing himself a little giggle for David's naïve assumption that locking a third story window would keep a supervillain out.

As he settled back in under the blankets he debated whether he should tell David about his "meeting" with Len or not. It had certainly gone a lot better than he'd expected, but then, Len had always been the most sensible of the Rogues. Cold kept his eyes fixed on his goals and tried not to let petty squabbles and drama distract him.

Anything Hartley said would likely only make David worry more, so he decided against bringing it up. But he couldn't help wondering how the rest of the Rogues felt about his decision to reform, and how many of them agreed with their leader…

* * *

The answer, of course, was that _none_ of them agreed with their leader.

"So Lenny, let me get this straight. You went over and talked to him, and he said he wasn't turning rat, and we're just going to take his word for it?" Lisa Snart glanced around the room, double checking that she had the support of every unstable costumed man present.

Well, everyone except her brother, who was still wearing street clothes, being fresh from his late night break-in and chit chat with their traitor.

"I don't know where you guys are getting off trying to say that Piper's gonna stab us in the back. Considering one of you assholes literally stabbed _him_ in the back."

"Rathaway's gotten to him. He's even talking like the queer now," Marco said as an audible aside to Sam. "He just used literally correctly."

"Len, the fact that Digger assaulted Piper doesn't make the kid less likely to hate us. It gives him way more reason to give info to the police out of spite," Mick said. "The fact that Digger being a shitwhale makes the kid fully justified in this situation don't make the situation any safer for the rest of us."

"If it had been me, I'd talk," Marco said with a nod. "Piper hated us. If it were me, I'd want to get even any way I could."

"So the question now is, how are we gonna shut him up before he becomes a real problem?" Lisa looked around the room again, weighing the responses she saw. She knew she could count on Marco and Digger to back her and Sam on this; they were all in full agreement. But Mick could go either way, and Walker was too new to want to rock the boat. He'd probably fall in with Len out of a misplaced sense of loyalty.

And Len was fully capable of drowning her and Sam out while bullying Marco and Digger to his side.

"We ain't gonna do no such thing. Trust me, Leese. Hartley is not a problem." Len's voice was nearly a growl.

"Oh come on, Len!" Sam yelled, losing patience. "Just because you liked the guy doesn't mean he's not gonna act in his own best interest! He's trying to go legit. He knows helping the cops helps him. Even without him hating us, which he most certainly did, he'd be an idiot not to turn rat. The kid's a traitor and we need to take action."

Thankfully, Sam was quick and rather nimble, so he was able to avoid the blast of Len's absolute zero gun, but just barely. "_Len_!" Lisa shrieked. "Will you fucking calm down and use your head?!"

Digger threw his hands up and stalked across the room, literally and figuratively standing with Len. He still hadn't fully recovered from his own icing and got jittery whenever the cold gun went off these days. "I'm with Len. If he thinks the fag ain't a problem then the fag ain't a problem."

"Will you stop it with the fucking homophobia, you useless piece of shit? You're the fucking reason Hartley's not working with us anymore," Len snapped.

"Why the ever loving fuck do you care so damn much?" Sam rounded on him. "You're acting like the Piper was some kind of big time asset for our team when all he did was bitch and moan. He never wanted in on the big scores. He was the biggest pain of any of us with his nancy ass tantrums about wanting to hit the guys who deserved it."

"He was a professional and we could do with more of his attitude," Len returned.

Lisa privately ceded her brother that point. Rathaway always showed up sober, one of the only Rogues more interested in planning heists than socializing. He was good at finding marks, and he was great with logistics. But he hadn't fit in with the other guys, and an inability and unwillingness to get along with your coworkers couldn't be ignored. Len was stubbornly oblivious to the importance a group dynamic made to organizing supercriminals, but she and Sam knew its value.

To put it bluntly, a bunch of lowbrow homophobes couldn't work with a cultured gay activist who talked down to them.

"I don't want to argue about this." Len aimed his gun around the circle, intimidating them all into silence. Mick, like Digger, held his hands up in a placating gesture, though the sneer on his face was a far cry from Digger's terrified submission. "You all keep your hands off of Hartley and stay out of his business. The kid's out. He promised me he wasn't squealing, and I believe him. That should be good enough for the rest of you."

Since no one argued, Len seemed to believe he'd won his battle. They moved on and got down to business planning a new heist.

Later that night, when Lisa and Sam got back to their apartment, they renewed the discussion.

"I don't trust the fairy, and god damn Len for putting us in this situation to begin with." Sam scrubbed a hand through his hair, all anxious energy and agitation.

Lisa rubbed her hands down his back. "Don't worry about it, baby. Just play along like a good boy when Len's around. Once my posturing dimwit brother is distracted by some other squabble, you and I can take care of business on our own."

"But Leese, what about all the shit Rathaway could pull on us in the meantime?"

Lisa couldn't help but laugh. "Oh come on, babe. What could he possibly say to hurt the two of us? He never hung out with us. He doesn't know where our bases are or where we live, and you're the only one who was smart enough to never let him look over your tech."

"Yeah, I suppose that's true." Sam visibly relaxed at that thought. Lisa was curled in towards him on the bed, and he finally lay down and faced her, resting a hand on her hip. "You're right. Like always."

"Course I am. I hafta say, I'm surprised Lenny's not more jumpy about it. Piper fixed up his guns for him all the time. He must know the absolute zero guns almost as well as his own tech by now."

"Well that's what the kid was good at. I was tempted, believe me. But now that he's turned rat, I'm glad you convinced me to keep the mirrors to myself." Sam's expression turned distant, no doubt wondering what kind of upgrades the Piper could have given him had he chosen otherwise.

Lisa thought back on when Rathaway had first joined up with their crew. At the time it had just been her, Len, Mick, and Marco. They'd been sitting in some dumpy, rat infested condemned building trying to think of a way to use their combined might to take on the city's new vigilante when some asshole in homemade armor barged in and started yelling about how he was going to turn crime in Central City around, and that they'd be idiots not to make him leader on the spot.

At first, no one even noticed the skinny kid in the green hoodie waiting by the door, watching them all with anxious but calculating blue eyes.

Len had walked up to the raving idiot and snatched the gun out of his hands before he could blink. He'd been so into his rant that it didn't occur to him the other supervillains weren't at all inclined to listen. The gun looked fairly ridiculous; it was unnecessarily large and reminded one of the kind of blasters little boys liked to draw on their homemade action heroes. But then Len fired it and it reduced their couch to a fond memory.

"Hm. Handles nicely. Didn't even get warm to the touch despite how much firepower it's packing, and no kick. This is a nice piece." Len turned it on the interloper. "So who the hell made it? Because it certainly wasn't an ignoramus like you."

"F-fuck, man! Put that thing down," the idiot blubbered, going a sickly shade of pale. "Seriously man, my gear's dangerous!"

"Yeah, that'd be the point. You really oughta consider answering my question." Len glanced down at the gun again. "Hm. No safety. I'm guessing that was your call. So you had a say in the design process, at least. You've got till the count of three before I give myself a demo on what this thing does to organic matter."

"Huh?"

"One, two-"

"Hey, don't shoot him!" Hoodie-kid raced across the room and put himself between the idiot-in-armor and the impractically dangerous gun. "I made it. And yes, Earl had a lot of say in the design process. I made it to his specifications. I did sneak in a safety though. It's by the seam on the left there, that little silver button."

"Hart, don't call me Earl in front of the other supervillains. It's _Fury_." Mr. Testosterone was actually whining. Lisa coolly observed him from over the rim of her compact mirror with a smirk.

It wasn't their first time having an up-and-comer try to bully his way onto the team, but this was certainly the most memorable so far.

Len set the safety but kept the gun. He continued ignoring "Fury" and focused his attention on his inconspicuous companion. "Well the design's impractical as hell, but I'm guessing that's not your fault, is it kid?"

"Uh, no, not really. I mean, I mean there's something to be said for Earl's flair for drama. You know, presenting a certain-certain impression…" It was clear he didn't know what to say. If Lisa had to guess, the tech-nerd agreed 110% with her brother, but he didn't want to embarrass Fury. Which was kind of a stupid goal, because the tech guy couldn't embarrass the wannabe supervillain more than he'd already embarrassed himself.

Len scoffed. "Yeah, I know all about presenting an image, but the image of an overgrown man child running into a bank with a weapon only a third grader would want ain't fucking impressive. What's your name, kid?"

"Earl Povi-"

"I wasn't talking to you, moron, I was talking to the brains of this outfit."

"I-I'm not the brains of…I mean, my name's Hartley, but I'm not a supervillain. Earl is. I mean Fury. This is Fury's dream. I'm just helping him."

"Why?" Mick blurted out. "I mean seriously, kid. If you can build shit like this then you don't need a twerp like that for muscle. I'd be happy to look out for you on a job."

"Hey, asshole!" Fury took a few steps towards Mick, either admirably or foolishly ignoring the cold gun and weather wand trained on him in response, depending upon your viewpoint. "Don't you fucking move in on my boyfriend!"

"Whoa, whoa, that was more info than I needed!" Mick's face contorted in disgust. "Why the fuck would you think I, eugh. I'm not _gay_."

Marco traded a look with Len, who shrugged. "Doesn't bother me."

"Okay…" Marco kept his wand on Fury. "Weird though. I didn't think there were any gay Rogues."

"So far there ain't," Len said. "This testosterone fueled dipshit certainly isn't joining up with us."

"What the hell are you talking about? You guys'd be lucky to have me. I'm the fucking man!" He actually smacked his chest armor in emphasis, and cracked the cheap plastic.

Hartley groaned and hid his face in his hands. "Earl, can we just go home?"

"No we fucking can't! And for fuck's sake, shut up!" Earl smacked Hartley upside the head, buckling the kid's knees and sending him to the ground with his hands flung protectively over his head. "You're making me look bad, you fucking shit. Just keep your mouth shut until this is over…" He stopped ranting when he felt the absolute zero gun pressed against his cheek.

"That is the last time you hit your partner, you got that you prick? You must have a good fifty pounds on that kid, at least." Len looked as calm and controlled as ever, but Lisa could spot the tightness around her brother's mouth and the angry set of his shoulders. A big button of Len's had just been pushed, and she was ready to enjoy the fireworks. "Now listen hear, you festering pile of shit. You are not now, nor will you ever be a Rogue. I see you slinking around here again and there won't be enough pieces of you left for the cops to pin the murder on me. You will cease to be. We don't take thrill seeking idiots in the Rogues, and we certainly don't take cowardly sons of bitches who hit their girls, or guys in this case. Now get the fuck out of here while I'm still feeling generous enough to let you off with a warning."

Sadly, the speech had done its job. Fury was sufficiently cooled and terrified by Len's threats that he silently started stumbling towards the door, visibly trembling. Despite the silly looking costume, he'd actually looked rather handsome when he'd first charged into their hideout. Now, without his confidence, he just looked pathetic.

Hartley climbed off the floor and meekly tried to follow after his sad excuse of a boyfriend, but he was stopped when Len planted a hand on his chest. "Where do you think you're going, kid?"

"I, uh…Earl didn't make the team?" His eyes shot nervously towards the door, and his long fingers were twitching and fidgeting with loose threads from the cuffs of his hoodie.

The kid was standing in better light now, and Lisa was forced to feel some compassion when she got a good look at him. Not enough to outweigh the disgust that came with the knowledge the kid was a homo who stayed with someone who beat on him, but some pity did enter the mix. Because clearly tonight's little smack wasn't the first time Fury had lost his temper on his subservient little boy toy. The kid had bruising around his neck that looked suspiciously like finger marks, his lip was a little fat, likely recovering from a recent splitting, and one of his eyes was a bit puffy and faintly bruised.

"That piece of shit didn't make the team," Len agreed. "But you could. We could use someone with your skills. I care way more about brains than brawn. You want in, you know where to find us."

Hartley's eyes widened. His mouth opened and closed a few times, but he didn't say anything. At an impatient noise from his boyfriend and abuser, he all but fled the hideout. Lisa had been sure that was the last they were going to see of the kid, which was what she would have preferred.

Len had hang-ups about seeing assholes smacking around weaker partners, but Lisa had her own demons there. She couldn't stand the idiots who stayed. In her book, Hartley deserved whatever he got for being stupid enough to date that creep to begin with.

But Hartley had returned. At first he was clearly doing so on his boyfriend's orders. He talked Fury up, going on about his successful heists and how he was rapidly improving with his gear and abilities. He lied about gear upgrades that Fury had supposedly come up with himself, but were obviously Hartley's own work. To Lisa's surprise, Len didn't call him out on his bullshit, but quietly struck up a friendship with the kid. Lisa watched them gradually get closer, and under Len's mentoring, Hartley gained some sorely needed confidence.

After a couple of months he stopped showing up for meetings with bruises. Once he was six months in, Hartley was considering becoming a supervillain in his own right instead of doing all of Fury's dirty work. It didn't hurt that he'd discovered a meta-ability through hypnosis, something Len and Mick were eager to take advantage of in group work.

By that point Digger and Sam had joined the Rogues-proper. Neither of them had been thrilled to discover a gay in their midst, but they were perfectly happy to take the gadgets an approval hungry little kicked puppy like the Piper offered them. Sam never gave Piper any mirrors to tinker with, but he'd accepted upgraded comms, alarms, and other goodies just like the rest of them.

Piper really grew into himself after his shitbag boyfriend got taken in by the Flash. Fury's incompetence was cemented for them when the dingus proved entirely incapable of breaking out of Iron Heights by himself. Piper might have been tempted to help him, but Len kept him too busy to plan anything drastic, and after a few weeks of asshole-free living the kid seemed to develop a spine. Without Fury constantly berating him and dragging him down, it looked like Hartley might have believed he deserved better.

There was still no chance Lisa was ever going to respect him though.

And now here they were, over a year later and that damn homo was still making trouble for them. Lisa couldn't understand for the life of her why Len was so protective of his little pet. She was pretty sure a lot of it had to do with their diametrically opposed reactions to domestic abuse. Len always sided with the victim no matter what, while Lisa felt the "victim" was an idiot for being in that situation to begin with (never mind the fact that she hated her mother for leaving, and she still resented Len for leaving too-that was too complicated to get into and she didn't want to dwell on it). But Piper wasn't a victim anymore and he hadn't been for a pretty fucking long time now. Len needed to act on his words and treat Rathaway the same as he'd treat any other Rogue, and if any of the rest of them had turned traitor he'd be neutralizing the threat.

It was bullshit. Len should have known better.

Lisa's anger kept her awake much long than Sam. She leaned up on her elbow and watched her boyfriend sleep, determined to protect him from her brother's bungling idiocy. Sam was the best thing that had ever happened to her. He was the first guy she'd met that knew how to treat a lady, and she was damned if her brother was going to screw that up for her.


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: _

_Hey! So...I still don't ideologically believe in Trigger Warnings for the most part, but that being said, I strongly feel that this chapter needs one. Domestic abuse, panic and anxiety disorders, and squicky sex are all dealt with in this chapter, and I spend most of it in Hartley's head as he is processing his trauma so...y'know, read with caution. No actual abuse happens in this chapter, but there is lingering trauma from past abuse discussed in explicit detail._

_Also I ended this one with a cliffhanger. _

_...please don't hate me._

* * *

The first time Hartley and David tried to have sex did not end well.

Which took Hartley by some surprise, because he'd been so sure sex was something they as a couple were going to be great at. He'd been eagerly anticipating it practically since confirming that David returned his affections. The two were clearly very into each other; Hartley had been captivated by his boyfriend on sight, and even though David was guarded about his feelings, it was pretty obvious he was plenty attracted to Hartley in return.

Hartley liked watching David's quiet reactions to his provocative flirtations, and he liked seeing when David's eye roamed to him. He knew his boyfriend liked his hair, so he'd taken to wearing it down when the two of them were alone in David's apartment, when having long strands constantly flying into his face wasn't much of a hindrance (on the contrary, it was an invitation for a lovely caress as David's strong fingers carded it out of his face).

Sometimes Hartley liked to pretend to fall asleep just so he could catch David in his completely unguarded moments, where he wore the most serene, sometimes even sappy little smiles as he played with Hartley's hair and mouthed something suspiciously similar to 'you enchant me.' (Hartley was also curious about _why_ David felt he couldn't express such affection as vocally or incessantly as Hartley himself did, but that was another matter).

The other reason Hartley had been sure their sex was going to be good was very simple and straightforward: he was dating a nice guy now. Even if he did end up having some of the same kinks as Hartley's exes (which he was kind of hoping for, since it would be nice to fuck a nice kinky guy), David seemed like the kind of man to be responsible about it. Hartley didn't think David was the sort of person to begrudge his partner a little aftercare. Actually, with how protective he sometimes got he'd probably enjoy aftercare almost as much as the sex itself. Besides that, Hartley _trusted_ him. He'd been fairly confident they were going to easily fall into a bedroom dynamic. In day to day life David was confident and assertive. That was definitely the kind of partner Hartley liked to try to please…as long as his autonomy was being respected, which it sometimes (often) hadn't been in the past.

In retrospect, they really should have had a more thorough conversation before they started anything. They were both bringing vastly different experiences to the table, and Hartley's traumas couldn't help but make an appearance.

Things started out nicely enough. Hartley remembered David's speech about wanting to approach things the right way, which meant waiting until Hartley had worked out his legal troubles and having a nice romantic night out that culminated in the bedroom. Hartley wasn't as invested as David in storybook romance; to him, simple day-to-day gestures could be imbued with meaning and thus any day was a good day for lovemaking, but David had never had a real relationship before and this was important to him.

Hartley could certainly play along. He wasn't averse to being petted and spoiled.

He was a little surprised then, when David initiated things without a fancy dinner or a dozen long stemmed roses.

Hartley had spent the night at David's to avoid another fight with his parents, and he actually managed to wake up Saturday morning before his boyfriend. David was in one of his dead-to-the-world deep sleeps, most likely the natural result of putting in over seventy hours that workweek. Hartley snuggled up to his side and tried to fall back asleep, but it proved elusive. After all, he'd mostly been lounging around doing nothing and didn't require twelve to fourteen hours of rest to recharge. So he sat up in bed and watched David for a minute, enjoying how peaceful he looked when he wasn't carrying the weight of the Central City crime lab on his shoulders.

He bent over and dropped a kiss on David's (for once) untroubled brow, then climbed out of bed and helped himself to a quick shower…that ended up lasting a good half hour thanks to David's incredible water pressure and array of fancy haircare products. When Hartley walked back into the bedroom with a towel wrapped around his hips his dripping hair smelled _amazing_.

David appeared to be waking up. Hartley detected a faint shift in his breathing and there were some stirrings of movement. "Morning, David. Go back to sleep if you want to. I've got plenty of stuff to keep me occupied if you need to sleep in." Like apartment hunting. He _really_ needed to find a landlord who didn't care about him being an ex-supervillain.

David let out a soft hum and rolled over so that he was facing Hartley while he fussed around at the wardrobe. He was looking for a pair of CCPD sweatpants he'd seen David with that he thought looked particularly comfortable (plus he enjoyed the idea of wearing anything with a cop logo on it; the irony amused him).

"I think you might be the most magnificently beautiful human being I've ever seen."

Hartley quit his rifling of the dresser drawers and turned to face David, who was wearing a groggy version of the unguarded sappy smile that rarely saw the light of day. Hartley couldn't help but smile back. "You're in a good mood this morning, huh? Must have been a restful night of sleep."

"I had good company. Will you come here for a moment so I can kiss you?"

Still smiling giddily, Hartley jogged over to the bed, leaving the dresser drawer open behind him. He sat down on the mattress beside David and leaned over. The towel was slightly displaced from the movement, leaving his right hip bare. David settled his hand on Hartley's waist and gradually drifted it downwards, fingers splaying out over his hipbone.

"You are lovely," David breathed against his lips. He gently touched Hartley's jaw, nudging him ever so slightly and coaxing his lips open to deepen the kiss. Hartley groaned his appreciation, moving more fully into David's arms.

He was the one to break the kiss off, reluctantly and a bit breathless when he finally did so. "David, I'm dripping all over your bed. Let me snag those sweatpants I was looking for and then I'll finish toweling off my hair and I can join you for some snuggling."

"What if…I were interested in more than snuggling?"

Hartley quirked an eyebrow, then slowly leaned back against the pillows, suddenly a lot less concerned about his wet hair. He turned on his side and kept his eyes on David, searching his face. "I'd be very interested in more than snuggling. But I thought you wanted to do a big fancy romantic thing?"

"I did want that," David said. Alertness had mostly won the fight against grogginess by this point, but he hadn't lost any of that relaxed, peaceful air he'd had upon waking to the sight of his boyfriend prancing through the room in a towel. "But those are just trappings. Romantic gestures are only meant to help convey how I feel about you. I think you know that even if I don't make a production of it."

"I do." Hartley clasped David's hand and twined their fingers together. "And I love you too." Because he'd never actually said it in those words, but Hartley still felt it.

David's eyes widened ever so slightly in response to Hartley's declaration, as did the smile he wore. He didn't say anything, but he was still smiling when he pulled Hartley into his arms and kissed him passionately.

Hartley would have liked an 'I love you too' but he wasn't going to end a perfectly nice kiss to complain. He was sure David would say it back in time, and in the meantime, his gorgeous boyfriend had expressed an interest in exploring each other's bodies. Hartley had been waiting months for this. Whispered endearments could wait for the pillow talk.

It began nicely enough. David rolled Hartley onto his back and pressed him into the mattress, kissing him deeply and thoroughly. Hartley liked a little domination, so he clung to David, fingers clutching at David's pajama top, and he moaned his approval.

The first unpleasant knot of tension formed in his stomach when David was murmuring his appreciation of Hartley's beauty as he kissed and lightly bit along his throat. Calling him hot was perfectly fine, but then he said something about how lucky he was that Hartley was his, and Hartley unconsciously tensed up a bit at the possessive wording.

Earl used to say that. When he was feeling generous he'd sound almost dumbfounded, like he couldn't believe Hartley had chosen to be with him, but more often than not the possessiveness carried an undercurrent of 'so I can do what I want' with it. Recognizing that particular red flag had been a survival strategy in his previous relationship; when Earl was in a possessive mood things could get dangerous.

Hartley only tensed for a second, if that. After all, this was completely different and he had no reason to even think of Earl anymore. They were beyond done, and David was a totally different person, and he really liked the way the stubbly-almost beard was rubbing at his skin while David sucked on his neck and jaw.

But David was a much better man than Earl, and he noticed the involuntary flinch. "Darling, is everything okay?" He leaned back and searched Hartley's face, concern heavy in his gaze.

"I'm fine," Hartley assured him quickly. Because he was. The reaction had been involuntary, and he knew it was irrational.

"If you don't like anything I'm doing, just tell me and I'll stop. I probably should have asked before I bit you. I'm sorry. That was probably weird, wasn't it?" David looked a little self-conscious about it. Hartley was still getting used to how subtle a blush could be on David's darker skin (with Hartley's vampiric WASP skin the tiniest of flushes stood out like crazy; as such he was as easy to read as a billboard), but he was pretty sure David had gone a touch red with embarrassment.

"No, it's fine. I like being bit." Which was totally true. It had been a couple of partners since he'd actually enjoyed it, but there had been a time when being bit really got him off. "Just don't break any skin though. I don't want to explain that to my parents if I wear a low collared shirt."

David looked even more horrified at the thought of the Rathaways being confronted with physical evidence of their sex life than Hartley himself was, so he leaned up and kissed the expression from David's perfect lips.

Things started to get a whole lot better after that. Kissing David was becoming one of Hartley's favorite things. He was going to have a pretty bad case of beard burn later, but he kind of liked the lingering soreness of his chafed skin. It was a nice reminder of having his mouth so thoroughly claimed by his amazing, attentive boyfriend. Hartley's hang-ups and his rotten ex-boyfriends remained far from his thoughts while David's hands were on him.

Then David pulled back to strip out of his pajama top. Hartley had lost the towel entirely as they'd migrated to the center of the bed, and a blush formed on his cheeks when he saw the hungry look in David's expressive brown eyes and realized it was the first time the man had seen him fully nude.

He was tempted to make some kind of throwaway comment asking if David liked what he saw, but he very clearly did. Anyway, Hartley was having a hard time getting his voice to work, so he shyly looked up at David, wondering why he was getting that tight feeling in his stomach again and wishing it would go away.

This wasn't going to be anything like…like _before_. He liked David, he trusted David, and David wouldn't hurt him. David would stop if Hartley needed him to; therefore there was no reason to ask him to stop.

"You are ravishing, my love." David's voice was low and husky. He finished removing his top and then crawled over Hartley, who found himself unable to move and felt his blush spreading. David dropped a kiss on his shoulder, then latched onto his neck and sucked a bruise there. "Absolutely stunning. I can't believe how lucky I am to have you."

Hartley closed his eyes and tried to enjoy the kisses as they trailed lower, but that nagging feeling wouldn't go away, and then David bit him again.

'You didn't tell him not to,' Hartley reminded himself as he tried not to jump out of his skin. 'You told him you liked it.' And he did. He liked being bit, but he was in a funny mood and he couldn't get himself to calm down, or just get excited in the right ways.

But this was different, and it was going to be good. He wanted it to be good, so he needed to get out of his head and start enjoying the fact that he finally had David in bed for more than just sleep. Hartley reached for David. He'd been teased for months now, getting to look at that tantalizing body and occasionally slide his fingers under a shirt and let them dance along the abs and leanly muscled chest he loved ogling, but he'd never had this kind of access before. He needed to get out of his head, and getting lost in David seemed to be the perfect way to do so.

Then David grabbed his wrists and pinned them to the bed. The smile he wore as he did so was playful, and there was nothing but love shining in his eyes, but Hartley's stomach gave another turn as his body remembered touches and looks that weren't as well intentioned. His breathing sped up a bit, but David misinterpreted it.

Well, Hartley _was_ excited. In a sense.

"Now, now, Hartley. I'm not done taking you in yet. Be still for me and let me take my time with you."

He'd been right in assuming that David was going to be dominant in bed. The man knew what he wanted and he had a perfunctory manner in regards to getting it. Hartley knew if he spoke up, if he asked David to take it down a notch then he would, but he couldn't get his voice to work. Hartley had always been drawn to stronger, forceful kinds of guys and so far the ones he'd been with had been jerks. It had been so long since he'd been with someone who gave a damn about him that he'd forgotten how to speak up, and he fell back into the old pattern from his last relationship.

The excitement of having sex with David for the first time entirely gave way to a feeling of resignation. Hartley made no struggle about having his wrists pinned, and when David let him go he kept them obediently at his side. He just needed to get through this and then if he was good they'd probably cuddle in bed for awhile, because they did that even without orgasms. David would hold him and stroke his hair and he'd breathe normally and there wouldn't be that awful feeling in his stomach anymore.

"You're so gorgeous, Hartley. I often wonder what such a beautiful, passionate young man is doing with me, but I've learned to stop doubting it. Every inch of you is flawless." That was almost nice. None of that possessive language that made him tense up (even though he _knew_ David didn't mean it badly).

"I…I love you," Hartley choked out, and he really wanted David to say it back. He looked at him imploringly, but David turned away, his attention on the nightstand. Hartley bit into his lip, blushing furiously and wishing he'd had the sense not to say that. He was being needy. Of course David wasn't going to say it back if he was being needy and whiny to boot.

He needed to calm down. He was going to ruin everything. It was one thing if the sex was bad for him. That wouldn't be anything new. But he wanted David to enjoy it. David was so good to him, he worked so hard, and he deserved so much. Hartley wanted to be good for him.

He jumped a little when David dropped a bottle of lube and a condom onto the mattress next to him. He'd noticed Hartley's reaction, and he ran a calming hand down Hartley's side. David was still wearing his pajama pants, and they were impressively tented. Hartley was only half-hard himself, which David didn't seem to mind. Earl would have minded. He would have asked why Hartley wasn't more turned on, would have made him explain himself, and if Hartley couldn't get the words out because his throat was too tight…

David was different. This was _different_, dammit.

"I was thinking I'd top, unless you had a strong preference against it," David said. His voice was incredibly soothing. Hartley took a slow, measured breath.

"That's what I figured too," he whispered. He barely recognized his own voice. It was so small and scratchy.

"Darling…are you sure you're all right? We don't have to do this now if you're not ready."

"No, no I swear I'm fine." Hartley surged into his arms and kissed him hungrily, trying to convince himself as much as David that he was still very much excited for sex. He must have done well, because David groaned into the kiss, and then those strong arms were wrapped tightly around him and he felt so wonderfully safe and secure and above all _wanted_. It would have just about killed him if David discarded him then.

"Mm…you convinced me." David looked so lovely when he smiled. He spent most of his time scowling, shoulders tensed and his whole body rigid from the toll his work took on him. Hartley liked to think that he could help with some of that tension in his small ways.

"All right, darling. Let me see that gorgeous backside of yours." He turned Hartley around, firm hands positioning him on his hands and knees and depriving Hartley of the comforting sight of David's familiar face. He breathed deeply, and tried to relax because he was going to be too tight if he couldn't relax and that wouldn't feel good for either of them.

The long months of celibacy had had an effect. Hartley couldn't remember the last time he'd gone to bed with anyone…god, it had probably been Earl, which was just said because the man had been locked up ages ago. At any rate, he wasn't stretching well. The penetration burned more than it should have considering David's fingers were rather slender, besides the fact that Hartley was far from virginal. He'd taken objects much larger and a lot less nice than David's index finger before.

"Hartley, relax…" David rubbed his other hand along Hartley's side again, but it didn't feel comforting this time. "You need to relax, beautiful."

"S-sorry. It's been awhile."

David removed his finger, and for a second Hartley thought he was going to cry because he needed David to enjoy this. But then it was back with more lube and that did actually feel pretty good. He'd taken the time to warm it up in his hands first and everything. David worked his finger in and out a few times, then gave it a crook.

"Is that any better? It looks better. You're taking it beautifully, Hartley. I can't wait to get my cock in you. You'll take it so well, won't you, you breathtaking boy?" He added a second finger, and Hartley started to lose himself in the wonderful feel of the stretch and the sound of David's lust-deep, melodious voice. "You're so good for me, my beautiful little pet. I love that you're all mine, Hartley. I hope you're as eager for my cock as you are for my fingers. You'll look like such a lovely little whore for me. Such a pretty little sl-Hartley?"

"I'm okay," Hartley gasped, but the fingers were gone. He dropped his forehead against his hands, which were flat against the mattress, and tried to take a deep breath. His breaths kept coming shallow, so he tried harder and it got worse. His heart was racing.

Fuck-fuck-fucking-hell-fuck. He'd tried so hard and he'd _still_ screwed it up.

"Hartley, what's-" David hesitantly touched a hand to his back and Hartley pulled away, putting some distance between them and hugging his knees to his chest.

"_Don't touch me_! I just, I need a minute. I just need to breathe. I j-just need a minute."

"Okay, okay." David backed up. Hartley had his head down, but he could hear an awful lot of shifting and movement.

Then David got out of bed and started walking away. Hartley dropped his head against his knees and started sobbing. And he _still_ couldn't take a deep breath.

He'd fucked up. He'd fucked everything up because he couldn't just stay calm, and he hadn't gotten David off and now David was going away. And David hadn't even done anything wrong. He'd been wonderful. Perfect. Better than a runaway fuckup deserved.

Then David's voice sounded from the other end of the room. He was standing in the doorway. Hartley could hear that he was nervous. His heartbeat indicated that, but there wasn't a hint of nerves in his steady, soothing voice.

"Hartley, please calm down and listen to me. Just listen to my voice. I'm going to help you breathe."

Hartley made a strangled noise of relief, comforted beyond words that David had come back. Hartley's sobs stopped entirely just for that. His breathing was still a mess though, so he listened to David and breathed in and out as he counted for him. David took slow, careful steps to the bed as Hartley regained control of his breathing, and by the time his breaths were measured and relaxed David was sitting on the mattress about a foot away from him.

David reached beside him and set a glass of water on the nightstand. He was only in Hartley's personal space for a moment and went to great pains not to touch him, and when he righted his posture he kept his hands up in front of him.

"I'm suh-sorry," Hartley whimpered.

"It's okay. Can I touch you? Would that be okay?"

Hartley made a small noise and nodded before crawling across the bed and climbing into David's lap. He hid his face in his shoulder and let David rock him and croon gentle little noises and pet his hair. He kept trying to apologize, but David hushed him and told him not to worry. Hartley let himself cry for a little bit, mostly out of frustration and embarrassment, but there was something else nagging at the edges of his mind begging to be processed that he insistently kept at bay. When he calmed from _that_ excessive display of emotion, David pulled the blanket around his shoulders and eased them against the headboard. He kept them sitting up and put the glass of water in Hartley's hands.

"I want you to drink at least half that glass before you try to talk to me. And take your time. You're too emotional right now, Hartley. I want you to be capable of more than sobbing apologies at me before we talk about this. You're not the one who needs to apologize."

It was a fairly large glass. David's strategy worked pretty well, because by the time Hartley finished half the water he wasn't trembling anymore and he hadn't had a shallow breath for a good five minutes. Plus the hydration was definitely making him feel better.

David took the glass from him and set it on the nightstand. He kept one arm firmly wrapped around Hartley's back the whole time. "Are you feeling better?"

"Yes."

"Can you talk to me?"

"I…I can try." Hartley tucked his head under David's chin, curling against him. Okay, so he was still a little shaky. But he did feel much better. "I'm really sorry, David. You didn't deserve any of that."

"That's funny. That's what I was thinking in regards to you. You just had a panic attack, Hartley. You ought to have a little compassion for yourself."

"That wasn't a panic attack," Hartley mumbled. It had been pretty close though. David sounded like he might start arguing, so Hartley appeased him. "It was teetering on the edge though. Thank you for talking me down. You're very good at that."

"I've had some experience. Hartley-"

"We don't have to talk about it, do we?" Hartley shifted a bit, turning their embrace into less of a clinging and more of a cuddle. "I just, I had a bad moment. We can leave it at that. You didn't do anything wrong."

"Well clearly that's not the case." David's expression was so befuddling, because he looked angry, but it wasn't directed at Hartley. His heart broke a little when he realized just how upset David was with himself.

He couldn't let him feel that way. David wasn't to blame. Hartley was the one that had screwed up. He needed David to understand that.

"No, no, you were wonderful. You said all the right things. You said that if I didn't like something I should say so and you'd stop, and I believe you. I trust you to stop for me."

"So why didn't you tell me I was making you that uncomfortable? Hartley, if you have boundaries like these you can't leave me to find them through trial and error." David gently touched his chin, nudging him so that they were eye to eye but not holding his face in place. Hartley was tempted to look away. It would have been easy to, and he hated seeing the pain and concern on David's face. "The last thing I want to do is hurt you, Hartley, physically or emotionally. Right now I feel disgusted with myself."

"No, don't. Please. David, you're perfect. It's just me. I swear, I'm the one who screwed up. You were fine."

"Hartley, please don't put the burden on yourself. Just talk to me. You don't have to tell me much, but I do need you to tell me what you need from me. You have some triggers, that much is clear. I need to know what they are before we ever try this again."

Hartley rubbed at his eyes with his hand. He could feel his heart starting to race again, so he grounded himself by squeezing David's hand. "You're right. It's, it's just hard to talk about because I didn't even know most of them were there until we started, and then I just…reverted, I guess. Which is bullshit, because you're not anything like Dustin or Earl. I guess I was just blindsided."

"Are Dustin and Earl ex-boyfriends of yours?"

"Y-yeah." Hartley gave a small shudder. He didn't even like hearing their names from David's lips. "Dustin was a creep and a loser. I only started dating him because I was sick of sleeping in my car and he had an apartment. That was right after my parents kicked me out. We had a, um, an open thing and we were on again off again for most of it. Then I met Earl and he started out great, but he ended up being so much worse. H-his thing was that he was going to take care of me. So, so that's how he started getting me to trust him and then, and then he got control and it happened so gradually that I didn't really notice what w-was going on. But um…I-I think he just wanted me to design gear and weapons for him. He…he wasn't very good to me, and by the end I…fuck. I really wish I could say that I found the strength to walk away from that one, but if he hadn't gotten busted by the Flash I'd probably still be with him."

"So you've been with abusive partners." David's voice sounded off. There was an odd hollow quality to it.

"I'm s-sorry-"

"Hartley, darling, I appreciate that you're upset by all this but you really don't need to keep apologizing. I'm just trying to understand what we're working with here. I'm not mad at you."

"Y-you look a little mad though."

David brushed back Hartley's bangs and kissed his temple. "Not at you, Hartley. If I had those pathetic ex-boyfriends of yours in here I might consider using them for target practice, but that's nothing you need to apologize for. I'm sorry you were hurt. And I'm sorry my attempts at physical intimacy recalled those experiences to you. I love you so much, Hartley. I should have noticed something was wrong well before I did, and I'm sorry I caused you such duress."

"Can you say that again?" Hartley asked, voice small and scratchy again.

"I'll apologize a million times over, if you need it."

"Not that. I'm about as interested in your apologies as you are in mine. The part where you said you loved me. I-I'd like to hear that again."

David looked startled. "Haven't I said it yet?"

Hartley shook his head. "Nope, that was the first time. I mean, I'd kind of inferred, but it's nice to hear."

David took Hartley's hand in his, brought it to his lips, and kissed his knuckles. "I love you, Hartley. And I don't ever want to hurt you again, even accidentally. So, my love, please tell me what behaviors I need to avoid in the future."

Hartley rested his head on David's chest and closed his eyes. He was so far from the state of mind that had had him panicking that it was getting difficult to recall. At the moment, he felt valued and perfectly safe.

"Honestly…I really wasn't aware of the triggers until they happened," Hartley admitted. "None of that was conscious. I…I know I got nervous when you said I was yours, and I didn't like you holding my wrists…but that doesn't make sense either, because I used to be really into that kind of thing. I normally like guys who take charge, and I like a little kink and it's not like I really think you'd hurt me. I know you wouldn't. I know you're not going to take advantage of me like Earl did."

"Well, darling…targeted abuse is definitely capable of interfering with things you used to enjoy. Until you work through some things, we should probably keep our sex life on the vanilla side. Which is fine by me. I'm used to anonymous encounters that contained a fair amount of kink, but I don't require that to get off. It…might be a nice change of pace to try something more sentimental. I've done some fucking, but not much in the way of lovemaking."

Hartley bit his lip and considered. "We'll bring kink in eventually though, right?"

"When you're feeling up to it, yes, if that's what you want. I'd like to have a few encounters without panic attacks before we try though." David looked thoughtful. "This might not be the best time to mention it, but sometimes when you're being particularly insolent I fantasize about holding you down and spanking you like the brat you are."

"I would _so_ be into that. Seriously, I'm kinda tingly at the thought of it." Hartley smiled, feeling almost like himself again.

David let out a sigh, a fond smirk on his lips. "I still think we need to keep it vanilla for now, but I suppose it's good to know we're into some of the same kinks. You look much better, darling. Are you still anxious at all?"

"No." Hartley leaned forward and gave him a quick peck. "I feel incredible, actually. I have the love and affection of a gorgeous, complimentary kinky man who cares about me enough not to run away when I turn into a sobbing wreck. I bet you even still think I'm pretty even though you saw me convulsing and sobbing uncontrollably."

"That was undeniably the prettiest panic attack I've ever seen. That being said, I'd love it if it were your last."

Hartley sighed and scrubbed a hand through his hair. "I'd love it if that were my last freak out too, but I don't think it will be. I'm…kind of messed up."

"Don't worry, darling. I love you as you are."

Hartley arched a skeptical brow.

"Well…I'd prefer it if you had a better sense of self-preservation, I'd like you to remember to rinse your dishes out and to wipe the toothpaste from the sink, and I wish you were more secure about your worth, but overall I'm happy with you. I'm sure you've got some nitpicks about me."

Hartley rolled his eyes. "I _have_ been rinsing out my dishes for you."

"Swishing a little water over them is not the same as rinsing them out. You left pasta sauce sitting in a pot long enough for it to form an almost impenetrable crust."

"Sounds to me like you need to buy a different brand of pasta sauce, because I'm pretty sure they're not supposed to do that."

"It sounds to me like you either need to start rinsing the dishes or actually running the dishwasher."

* * *

Hartley and David's day progressed pleasantly enough despite the tense start to the morning. David cooked breakfast since Hartley had shown a woeful lack of culinary ability unless a microwave was involved, while Hartley sat at the table with a laptop and looked over apartment listings.

David set a plate of pancakes at Hartley's elbow and glanced over his shoulder. His brow wrinkled with concern. "That's not the best of neighborhoods, Hartley."

"That's only a block away from where I lived when I first left home."

David bit back the comment he was itching to make about the lack of options Hartley had had when first getting kicked out with just the shirt on his back, and went to get his own plate. "It still doesn't seem very convenient for you, love. It's out on the edges of Keystone. Shouldn't you look for something a bit closer to the campus? Or, if that doesn't work, perhaps a bit closer to me?"

Hartley shrugged his shoulders. "I wouldn't mind living close to you, but I don't know if gentrified yuppie-ville is really my scene. I've always liked Keystone better than Central."

"You prefer the economically depressed and crime ridden to the relatively stable environment."

Hartley quirked a brow. "Are you surprised?" He was smirking when he took a sip of his coffee.

David tried to scowl, but it came off affectionately despite his intentions. "No, I suppose not."

Hartley rubbed his foot against David's calf under the table. "Don't worry so much, David. Despite appearances, I _can_ take care of myself. Getting shanked by a boomerang was a fluke, not something that happened to me on a regular basis. I survived on the streets just fine and I lived perfectly well in worse neighborhoods in Keystone and Central than this one."

'By jumping into the arms of abusive, controlling thugs for protection,' David thought bitterly, but had the sense not to say.

"Besides, it's probably a moot point. No one wants to rent to an ex-supervillain. I'm probably going to have to use Mom's connections." Hartley rubbed at his eyes and let out an exaggerated groan. "I really don't want to do that if I can avoid it. She'll take over entirely, and before I know it she'll be bringing in her interior designer, and she's pretty sure he's gay too so she'll be trying to throw me at him even though he's _ancient_ and so not my type-"

"Oh, are those the only objections?"

Hartley stuck his tongue out. "You know damn well they're not. But seriously…if I could tell people I wasn't single then Mom would have a harder time trying to set me up with WASPS. I could tell them why I was saying no."

David didn't have anything to say to that, so he took a pointedly long sip of his coffee. Hartley actually did look a bit irritated with him. He moodily stabbed at his pancakes with his fork, so David cast about for a way to bring some serenity back to the morning.

"Did you give any thought to moving some of your things here?" he asked. He'd been trying to get Hartley to leave some clothes and possessions at his place instead of living out of his overnight bags. Hartley kept insisting that he and David shouldn't be living together yet, that it would strain the relationship and hasten David along in the epiphanies that would make him run screaming from a commitment with someone like Hartley (and he couldn't tell if his boyfriend was making a self-deprecating joke there or if he meant it), but he also tended to turn up more nights than not with a full bag and a frustrating story about a fight with his parents.

"It's…starting to seem like a good idea." Hartley's face warmed with the most endearing little blush as he spoke. David loved how expressively his boyfriend's skin colored with his mood. It made him wish he was artistically inclined, so he could capture some of those fetching blushes and flushes.

"Mm. At the least I think you should keep your own toothbrush here, but some of your flutes would be nice."

"Really?" Hartley looked up from his plate, lovely blue eyes wide with surprise. "I'd think those were the last thing of my shit you'd want to be around."

"Why? I love listening to you play."

Hartley's brow furrowed. "But…it's just noise. Everyone always complained about it."

David shook his head. "Your _parents_ always complained. They don't recognize what a brilliantly talented musician you are. I'm encouraging you in your passions, remember? Besides that, I do sincerely enjoy my private flute concerts. I may not understand much of the technicalities involved, but that doesn't mean I don't enjoy the music."

Hartley looked almost bashful as he lowered his gaze down to his plate. He bit at his lower lip, a wobbly smile on his face, and when he looked up again his eyes were shining with emotion. He reached across the table and squeezed David's hand. "I really do love and appreciate you so much."

David stroked Hartley's palm with his thumb. "I love you too, Hartley." And he was damn well never going to forget to articulate that again.

After breakfast Hartley left for his parents' and returned with a box of things. Not much, nothing that would give the impression he was moving in, but he set up some flutes in the living room and he put some hygiene products in the bathroom ("I'm still stealing your shampoo when I'm here though. Seriously, where do you even get that stuff?" "…the store?"). David got called out to the office a few times during the course of the weekend, but as Saturday and Sunday really were supposed to be days off he was only gone for an hour at a time, and when he got home he had a gorgeous boyfriend waiting to listen to him bitch and then help him relax with his own private concert.

Monday morning came far too quickly for David's liking, but before he knew it his alarm was going off and Hartley was rolling away from him with a pillow tightly clutched to his head whining about killing the device with fire again. David switched it off, dropped a kiss on Hartley's shoulder blade in penance, and then left the invitingly warm bed for a quick shower and his stuffy work clothes.

Hartley was out cold again by the time he was ready for work. David still tenderly stroked back his hair and said goodbye to him on the off chance he was aware enough to hear it, and then grabbed his briefcase and left the building.

He was halfway to the bus stop when he thought he felt eyes on him. David changed the pace of his walk a few times and was positive that someone near him was matching it.

'You're being ridiculous.' He was on a crowded public street in broad daylight. No one in their right mind would try anything, and besides that, what reason would anyone have to target him? Worrying for Hartley was clearly starting to have an effect on him. He was going to have to ease back on that paranoia.

When an orange and green blur threw an arm over his chest and pulled him into a particularly reflective storefront, David remembered that the Rogues couldn't exactly be considered men in their right minds.

* * *

_A/N: _

_Just to let you guys know, I recently moved and I'm living somewhere without internet access at the moment. I can't comfortably afford my new place so even latte money for going to cafes and using public internet isn't advisable. I don't know when me and the roomies are going to be getting internet, so my updates are going to be a little infrequent. I'm very sorry, and I promise to do my best!_

_Also, I'm planning on writing some happy smuts for the couple soon. I wanted to make the sexy-times part of the storytelling, so that meant having it contribute to the characters' growth and development in some manner and in this case...well, Hartley's trauma was something that I wanted to explore in a little more detail. Plus David's got some shit going on as well, and I think I can get an interesting character-development arc out of them getting to know each other instead of falling right into a good bedroom dynamic._


	9. Chapter 9

For some reason, David was expecting to find himself inside the store somewhere. When he landed on the cold concrete floor of some kind of basement storage area he felt terribly disoriented, but he was grounded again in a moment. Mirror Master used reflective surfaces to travel; of course he wasn't in the building, just because he'd been pulled through a storefront.

Unfortunately, that meant he had no idea _where_ he actually was. For all he knew, he wasn't even in Central anymore. He might not have even been in the United States.

Mirror Master stood over him, training a light gun on David's head. "Stay on the ground, pig."

David had his hands planted in front of him. He'd been getting ready to stand up, but he remained on his hands and knees. Despite the humiliating posture he returned the supervillain's glare with a cool gaze. "I'm a forensic scientist."

"Close enough. Wait, really?" Mirror Master regarded him doubtfully. "Aren't you the cop that's been meeting with Piper and his lawyers all the time?"

David kept his face an expressionless mask, though inwardly he felt a surge of nerves. As soon as he'd been grabbed he realized that this was most likely about Hartley, but he didn't like having that suspicion confirmed. He wanted these dangerous men the hell out of his boyfriend's life.

It didn't occur to him to be afraid on his own behalf.

"Yes, I've been meeting with Rathaway and his lawyers."

"Ah. Good, got the right one. I was pretty sure it was the Hindu guy." Then, before David could finish his kneejerk response to being called a Hindu, Mirror Master pistol whipped him with his bulky light gun.

David fell back, a trickle of warm blood trailing down from his temple. Mirror Master followed up the hit with a few kicks to David's ribs. He hunched over and tried to slide away from his aggressor. The last thing he needed was to miss more work over another Rogue-related beating.

Thankfully, Scudder wasn't as interested in mauling him as Boomerang had been. He left it at the hit and the few kicks and then crouched down next to David and pressed the light gun against his head. "What has Rathaway been telling you assholes?"

"Nothing," David snapped. He let some of the frustration he felt about the entire arrangement seep into his tone, but that emotion was the only authentic part of his performance. "Rathaway is obviously only pretending to cooperate with the detectives to secure his plea. He hasn't said a damn thing we could actually use. He's been claiming all of his information is out of date, as though he were locked up long enough for that to be the case."

Scudder's eyes widened behind his mask. "The fairy was telling the truth? He's not giving info on us?"

"No!" David exclaimed, startling Mirror Master with the vehemence of his words. "He's a lying bastard, is what he is. If his parents weren't throwing around their money and their fancy lawyers then there's no way he'd be getting off. He hasn't given us a single tip we could actually use."

"I see." Mirror Master stood up and paced for a few long minutes. He looked uncomfortably pensive. Finally, he unclipped a circular hand mirror from his belt and spoke into it. "Did you get that, babe?"

"I did," a woman's voice sounded from the mirror.

"Well? What do you think?"

"He's as irritated with Piper as we are, from the sounds of it. I'm inclined to believe him. Dump the pig at the station and get back here."

"Sure thing." Mirror Master put the hand mirror back on his belt and then turned his gun on David once more. "Get to your feet. If you mention this to anyone you are fucking dead, got that Apu?"

David scowled at him. "I have three degrees, you know. I'd prefer not to be compared to a Simpsons caricature of race."

"Ah, a prissy intellectual jerk. You and Piper should meet up for drinks sometime. You'd probably hit it off. I mean, if he weren't already fucking some other cop." Scudder snatched the dumbfounded police scientist by the arm and dragged him through a free standing piece of glass before he could come up with anything to say.

* * *

Hartley was lounging on David's couch with a book open in front of him when he heard the front door open. He glanced at the mantel clock resting on one of the bookcases and took note of the time. "You're early."

"What are you talking about? I'm exactly on time."

Hartley smirked as he closed the book. "Yes, so you're early." He rolled onto his back and flung an arm out. "C'mere…what happened to your head?"

"Hm?" David set his briefcase down (his _stained_ briefcase, that was normally impeccably neat) on the coffee table and loosened his tie. "What on earth are you talking about?"

"That big cut on your forehead with the bruise around it." Hartley took in the stains on the knees of David's slacks and some mild scrapes on his palms. "David, what happened?" He sat up and scooched across the couch so that he was closer to where his boyfriend was standing.

David fixed him with a measured stare, and then finally let out a long, exasperated sigh. "Let me have a shower and get changed first. I promise, I'll tell you everything when I'm done."

"You're sure? You're not going to spend that time coming up with some way to evade me on this, right?"

David bent over and kissed Hartley's forehead. "I promise to be candid."

"Okay then."

Hartley would have liked to be able to do something thoughtful, like fix dinner while he waited for David, but his boyfriend had different tastes from him. Apparently microwavable macaroni and cheese didn't count as a "real meal", so Hartley ended up pacing around the living room.

David emerged a little while later, looking tired and grumpy, but very sexily so with his damp hair slicked back from his face. He must have been distracted when he grabbed his comfortable clothes for the night; he was wearing Hartley's Power Rangers t-shirt with his sweatpants.

Hartley sat down on the couch and expectantly patted the cushion next to him. "So? What happened?"

David dropped down next to him and immediately slouched over. He tried to rest his head against his hand, but he winced when he accidentally got the cut and the bruise.

Hartley jabbed him with a finger. "How come you didn't cover that cut? You were even in the bathroom. Sit still. I'll get the first aid kit."

"Now really, Hartley, there's no need to fuss."

"It's not fussing! You at least need a band-aid. Hold on."

"Hartley-"

"I have a lot more experience with getting beat up than you. I'll be right back with some Neosporin." He snatched the first aid kit from the bathroom and jogged right back to David's side. It only took him a few seconds to dab the cut with some ointment and cover it with a band aid. Once he was done he carded his fingers through David's hair and dropped a quick kiss on his cheek. "There. Now tell me what happened."

"…I may or may not have been kidnapped by one of your former coworkers on my way to work this morning. Again."

"What, really? Did you tell anybody?"

David shook his head. "It didn't seem worth it."

"Who grabbed you? What did they say? Why did they-" He fell silent when David pressed a finger over his lips. Hartley rolled his eyes, but he obediently stopped his questions and let David continue.

"It was Mirror Master, though he seemed to be in communication with someone else. A woman, unless the voice was disguised. I didn't know there were any female Rogues."

"There aren't officially, but Mirror Master's girlfriend has him pretty whipped. Sometimes I think she's more of a supervillain than him. Hm. That's interesting. Do you know why they targeted you?"

"Because of you, but it wasn't that bad. They didn't seem to know anything about me other than the fact that I've been in communication with your family's lawyers. He wanted to know what kind of information you've been giving the police."

Hartley chewed on his lip, troubled at what David seemed to think trivial news. "That doesn't make any sense. I already told Len I wasn't talking."

"You what? When did you do that?" David sat bolt upright and regarded Hartley with one of those quick, angry glares he was particularly good at.

"I dunno, like a week ago?" Hartley felt his stomach turn a little funny in response to actual anger being directed at him from his partner. He bit back the anxiety with a healthy covering of indignation. "Not that it's any of your business if I talk to one of my friends, mind you-"

"Of course it's my business if you talk to a mentally deranged costumed criminal!" David exploded. "Especially when I'm the one who got kidnapped by one of his associates _maybe_ a week later. How could you keep something like that from me?"

"I didn't think you'd get it, and obviously I was right."

"Hartley, these men are _dangerous_. They shouldn't be contacting you."

Rationally, Hartley knew David was only being concerned for his safety (and that he kind of had a point), but he wasn't doing quite well enough for the rational part of his brain to overpower his emotional response. He defensively pulled away from David and dug in. "Len's not like Digger and Sam, okay? He's actually been a really good friend and he was happy for me when I told him I was getting out of the game. He came by to check up on me and say goodbye. This shit with Mirror Master doesn't make any sense, because Len should have told the others that I wasn't ratting on them." Hartley scrubbed a hand through his hair, trying to think.

The obvious explanation was that Len wasn't in complete control of the Rogues, but Hartley didn't want to go there. The Rogues agreeing with and respecting the views of their leader worked decidedly in his favor. If they didn't follow Len's lead on how to treat him then people Hartley cared about might actually be in danger…

Like the boyfriend currently losing his shit as he anxiously paced around the living room.

"Hartley, you absolutely cannot continue seeing criminals like Captain Cold."

He hadn't been planning on it, but being flat out forbidden from socializing with whomever he pleased struck Hartley the wrong way. "David, you don't get to decide who my friends are. Even my abusive boyfriends didn't get a say in that." Not that that had anything to do with Hartley's actions per se…Earl had simply been too scared of Captain Cold to try to keep Hartley from mixing with the Rogues.

David stopped mid-pace and stared at Hartley, unmistakably hurt. "Did you just compare me to one of your exes?"

Hartley defiantly crossed his arms over his chest. "If you're going to act like one of them then I'll call you out on it."

"Please do, but save that kind of venom for when I've done something to deserve it." David began pacing again, but the fire of his anger had died, replaced with something much more difficult for Hartley to stomach. He looked wounded. "I don't think my worry for you should be conflated with abusive levels of control."

"I…I did actually want to talk to you about…um…look, you're not like Earl or anything, but you are a little judgey and kind of a control freak about my life."

"It's not unreasonable for me to want you to keep your distance from dangerous criminals who exploited you when you were vulnerable in the past and who could potentially destroy the future I'm trying to make with you! Hartley, having secret conversations with Cold could ruin your plea deal. What if someone found out? What if it got back to the judge?"

"That's not likely. It's not like we were sitting someplace public."

"Hartley, I really don't think of your parents' house as being any wiser an option."

"We didn't chat at Mom and Dad's. He checked in with me here."

Which was apparently entirely the wrong thing to say.

David started talking a few times, but checked himself before he could get any words out. Hartley had never seen him that agitated before. Finally, he closed his eyes and gave himself a quick shake. "If I try to talk about this now I'm not going to say anything productive. I'm going for a walk."

"Wait, no!" Hartley jumped up from the sofa and crossed the room with a few quick strides. He grabbed David's arm and tried to step in front of him, but David wouldn't look at him. "You just got kidnapped _this fucking morning_. I mean, I mean I'll leave you alone and everything, but please don't go anywhere just yet."

"Oh, so you do understand what it is to worry about someone when they're doing something reckless?"

"David, please…" Hartley's voice broke. David still wasn't looking at him. "Um…you're not really going out in my Power Rangers t-shirt, are you?"

David glanced down at his chest and finally realized what he was wearing. "How did I…maybe I shouldn't be encouraging you to move your things into my apartment."

"I think it's kind of sexy when you wear my clothes."

David rolled his eyes, but then made eye contact. "Good job breaking the tension."

"Why thank you. Um…I'm really sorry. I honestly didn't think talking to Len was a big deal. I mean, I'm a reforming supervillain…I'd thought you would have noticed that all of my buddies were costumed criminals. Like, like I really did think that it occurred to you that I talked to a few of the guys. I wasn't trying to hide it from you. Well, I mean I didn't think you'd get along with Len so I wasn't going to introduce you guys or anything, but beyond that…I didn't mean to be deceptive."

"Hartley, you don't seem to have a deceptive bone in your body and sometimes I'm pretty sure that's to your detriment." All the fight appeared to have left David, leaving him looking worn and a bit shaken. He pulled Hartley close for an embrace that had the feel of a clinging to it, but Hartley melted into his arms all the same. He took a relieved breath, glad they'd stopped fighting.

"When Sam grabbed you…did he say anything about us? Like, did he seem like he knew we were dating?" Len had said the guys knew he was dating a cop, but that didn't necessarily mean they knew which one…

"No," David said, and Hartley breathed a sigh of relief. "I didn't give him any reason to suspect anything. I played it off like I was frustrated that a blatant lawbreaker was going to go free without cooperating. Which actually would be the case if I wasn't enamored with you. There is no way in hell you should be getting this plea."

Hartley laughed. He took David's hand and tugged him into the bedroom. "Yeah, you've mentioned that a few hundred times. No, that's…that's a relief. Um…Len knows we're together. But if Sam doesn't then that means he's keeping it quiet for me."

"How did he find out?"

"I didn't ask." Hartley chewed his lip thoughtfully. "Maybe I should do that." He flopped onto the bed and faced towards David with an expectant look, but David failed to take the invitation to cuddle and continued moodily pacing instead. "I won't if you're really uncomfortable with it, of course, but I really think I ought to talk to Len at least one more time and try to figure out what's going on. He's supposed to be our…_their_ leader. But Sam and Lisa abducting you makes zero sense and I don't like the idea of them working behind Len's back."

David was quiet for a long few minutes, obviously deep in thought. Hartley anxiously tapped his hands against the mattress, unconsciously tapping out the beat to an album he'd listened to earlier in the evening while waiting for his boyfriend to get home.

"I don't like it, but you're right. You should seek Cold out at least one more time. But can you break off contact with them after that? I really don't like the idea of you consorting with costumed criminals now that you're trying to reform."

"Look, most of the guys are total assholes, but a couple of them are all right-"

"They're career criminals, Hartley. I am literally paid to get evidence against them."

Hartley frowned. "Len and Mick are like the only friends I've had since I was a teenager. And Marco wasn't that bad most of the time. He was a mean drunk though. He got defensively homophobic in a way that always made me wonder. You know how sometimes the guys who protest the loudest are the ones who end up propositioning you down the line?"

David blinked a few times. "That…never happened to me."

"Oh. Maybe you have to be out to get uncomfortable passes from homophobic jack offs. Anyway, Marco never hit on me, but I've always secretly suspected him of being a three beer queer."

"I've never heard that one." David sat down on the bed. He started to settle down against the pillows, but then his stomach gave a loud enough rumble for Hartley to hear it.

"What have you eaten today?"

"Let's see…I've had at least four cups of coffee-"

"Which is not a meal."

"Coffee has calories."

"And is _not_ a meal. I'll heat up some leftovers." Hartley climbed out of bed, and by the time he got back with the warmed up food David had wrapped himself in comfy blankets and put on a movie. Hartley was a little taken aback, as he expected there to be a bit more arguing before they made up, but then he noticed that David had put on Singing in the Rain.

His boyfriend had put on one of his favorite musicals and was holding up an end of the blanket in a clear invitation for a cuddle. It was most definitely a peace offering, and possibly an apology to boot. Hartley slid in beside him, attention riveted on the movie while David ate.

"I don't know why you always insist on making such a fuss about how different we are," Hartley said. He waved his hand at the TV. "This alone is proof that you get me on a deep, fundamental level that no one else has ever grasped."

"Because I've figured out that putting on a Gene Kelly movie when you're pissy mellows you out?"

"No one else noticed."

"Huh." David set the empty plate on the nightstand and then wrapped an arm around Hartley. "Well this is something we have in common. I'm not quite as obsessed with his movies as you are, but Gene Kelly was one of my first crushes when I was a kid."

"I didn't think it was possible for me to love you anymore than I already did. You just proved me wrong with your magnificent taste."

David was a bit distant while the rest of the movie played out. He kept his arm around Hartley the entire time, almost as though he expected Hartley to go somewhere if he didn't. When the movie finished Hartley shrugged out of the protective embrace to turn the television off and adjust the pillows for sleep. "You probably should have konked out during the movie. You look wiped."

"I know. I'll regret staying up this late tomorrow morning, I'm sure." David fell back against the bed and glared at the ceiling. The glare was nowhere up to his usual par; he was much too exhausted for that.

Hartley snuggled in next to him and gave his shoulder a gentle poke. "What's wrong? Anything I can do to help? I mean…if I can help you really should let me, considering I'm the reason you're all worked up to begin with."

"Hartley…I'm just worried. I worry about you all the time. There are so many things that could go wrong for us right now, the most mundane of which involve our relationship being discovered and me getting fired over it. But the worst case scenarios…I don't want you to get hurt."

Hartley shifted onto his side. "Obviously I don't want that either. I know things aren't simple for us or anything, but there's a lot of good going on too. I mean, I mean I wouldn't trade it for anything." His stomach gave an uncomfortable lurch as he worried that that might have been where David's train of thought was going.

David dispelled that by pulling him close for a sleepy kiss. "Me neither. It isn't easy, loving you, but since I've gone and fallen for you I'm determined to make this work. I appreciate that you don't pack it in when I'm being difficult. I'm sorry about earlier. That was all stress. I shouldn't have taken it out on you."

"Stop." Hartley trailed a hand down David's face in a fond caress that also distracted him from the unnecessary apology. "David, I was being a total bitch during that fight. I got anxious and I actually snapped at you for being concerned about me. You were totally right about me keeping my chat with Len from you. I should have told you. It also should have occurred to me on my own that maybe hanging out with the Rogues now that I'm reforming isn't the best idea in the world."

"…I don't want to put restrictions on who you socialize with." He looked painfully conflicted. "But I want you to be safe, and your judgment sometimes…"

"That's fair." Hartley leaned in for a quick kiss. "I'll consult you from time to time then. _Not_ because I'm ceding control of my life to you, but because I trust you to help me look out for myself. So…are we good now?"

"Of course. Hartley, I…I know I'm a difficult person to get close to. Thank you for your patience with me. I'm trying to be better about communicating with you instead of just snapping at you all the time."

"I noticed." Hartley couldn't help a sappy smile there. The efforts were small and probably wouldn't have made much difference to most people, but Hartley sensed what the efforts at candor and honesty cost his stoic boyfriend and he appreciated them. Hartley gave him a tight squeeze. "I appreciate it greatly, but don't change too much on me. I like our banter too. Besides, this is nice. The fact that we can disagree and fight and stuff but still be in bed and cuddling at the end of the night is fucking great. I've never had anything like this before."

"Neither have I."

"And we both expect it to fall apart at any minute," Hartley observed.

"Mm." David murmured his agreement. "Well, a certain amount of pessimistic cynicism is something we have in common. One of few things. If we do fall apart, it won't be from lack of affection, that's for damn sure. It'll be outside pressures."

"I have zero intention of letting the outside pressures win."

"Same." David's voice was a sleepy whisper, but he sounded relaxed, like he was ready to drift off to a comfortable sleep despite the fact that they were bantering about breaking up.

Hartley teasingly poked his side. "Although, if you wanted to eliminate one of those outside pressures for me you could always come out of the closet…"

"I believe that would increase the outside pressures, actually. _Goodnight_, Hartley."

"…night."

* * *

Hartley did mean to track Len down and have that chat about how much of his private life was public knowledge to the Rogues, but then he got thoroughly distracted by getting a call back from a potential landlord. He was so excited to find an apartment that had nothing to do with his mother that just about every other thought and concern was driven from his mind.

The place was in Keystone City, only a few blocks away from the bridge and thus not a terrible commute from David's house, though it was going to be a bit of a hike to his campus. It wasn't lavish, so he could easily afford it with his trust fund savings (money he hadn't been able to touch during his villain-days but was now easily accessible without needlessly complicating his life). He was beyond excited about how little involvement his parents would have in this transition.

David gave his reluctant blessing to the apartment. There were certainly worse neighborhoods in Keystone, and Hartley would probably have to walk a few blocks out of his way at the wrong time of night to be mugged, but he didn't seem to be in danger of suffering a break-in. Hartley was annoyed by David's concerns, pointing out that he could completely handle it if a mundane, non-costumed criminal tried to go after him.

"I'm sorry, do you actually know how to fight? Because I was pretty sure the Piper always depended on his tech to attack people," David pointed out derisively.

Hartley rolled his eyes. "Try to hit me."

"Excuse me?"

"Seriously." Hartley set down the box he'd been carrying in the entryway between the kitchen and the dining room. He stood facing David with his hands on his hips. "Charge at me right now. Try to land a hit."

"Hartley, I have had some training on this. I don't want to hurt you."

"I promise you, you won't."

Still hesitant, David went to subdue Hartley, planning on pinning him rather than trying to hurt him at all. He got in two steps before he found himself frozen, unable to move, mind enveloped in a comfortable blankness he saw no reason to fight.

Hartley walked up to him wearing an impish little smile and bopped his nose. He was whistling something David couldn't identify with that stultifying blankness covering his thoughts. When the whistling stopped he instantly unfroze and went right back to charging to where Hartley had been standing a good five minutes beforehand. Hartley was now sitting on the kitchen counter watching him with his chin propped in his hands.

"You forgot about the meta-hypnosis, didn't you?" he asked, infuriating little grin in place.

David turned to face him and gave a curt nod. "So even if you're surprised and don't have your tech on you, you're not defenseless."

"Yeah, nope. As long as I can make music I can defend myself."

"Good." David turned on his heel without saying anything further and went to retrieve another one of Hartley's boxes.

Sighing, Hartley grabbed the one he'd been carrying and continued lugging it into the room he'd designated as a sort of home-office. It already had his work bench and a drafting table set up in it. "I suppose I could point out to my thoroughly paranoid and non-meta boyfriend that he's much more susceptible to harm if surprised with an attack while he's unarmed than I am, but who wants to pick a fight?"

It took them quite a while to move all of Hartley's things into the apartment. Hartley didn't exactly have an abundance of potential moving buddies to call on; now that he'd reformed he didn't have any friends (and it's not like the Rogues would have helped him even if he were still talking to them) and besides that, since his relationship with David was a secret he couldn't very well invite other people over if he wanted his boyfriend there.

Getting the boxes and the furniture inside was enough work for one day. They ate some takeout while sitting among the boxes in the living room, thought about setting up Hartley's bed, and then retreated for David's apartment instead. Considering David's apartment was a perfectly nice place to be (it had started feeling more like a home than his parents' house ever had by his second overnight stay), Hartley didn't end up fully unpacking until pretty much the week before he started school. Even then, he only did so out of the recognition that he was going to want his books and all of his instruments once classes began.

It surprised him, how easily he transferred from being a supervillain to civilian life. Losing the Rogues as friends barely affected him. He missed talking with Len and Mick from time to time, but for the most part he was happy to have the rest of them out of his life (especially Boomerang). He missed the excitement and the adrenaline high of pulling heists, but spending hours practicing flute, preparing for recitals, and studying music theory with the intensity he'd craved during adolescence kept him too busy to give that longing more than a passing thought.

It took him three semesters to notice, what with how intensely he'd thrown himself into his studies, but for the first time he could remember, Hartley really was happy with his life. Not just content, not just getting by, but _happy_.

He almost wished he hadn't noticed, because after he did it started making him nervous, something he finally confessed to David after stewing in embarrassed silence.

Hartley was practicing for an upcoming recital in David's living room while David read through a few case files. The night was so nice and peaceful and Hartley felt a serenity that made him uncomfortable. He set his flute down and gave voice to his thoughts, something he was still getting used to. It was incredibly freeing to be listened to, and to have his anxieties considered with seriousness rather than outright dismissed for their irrationality.

David regarded him with a particular look of amusement that had taken Hartley a while to learn how to read. Initially he'd thought his boyfriend was belittling him, or patronizing him over his worries. When David looked at him like that, Hartley got that he was being a bit silly or dramatic, but that David found something endearing in his eccentricities. It was so nice not to have to hide that shit.

"I get this one too," David said, startling Hartley.

"Really? I thought I was being paranoid, or stupid."

"Hartley, it's quite common for people with dysfunctionalities in their backgrounds to have difficulty adjusting to their lives going well. You're used to thriving in chaos. It makes sense that stability would be unfamiliar, and thus to an extent uncomfortable. Plus a part of you is waiting for the shit to hit the fan again, right?"

Hartley restlessly tapped his fingers against his flute while he considered, and finally gave a slow nod. "Yep."

"Well, it's normal to feel that way, but the trick is to recognize that before you do something to sabotage yourself."

"Hm. Like pick a fight with you because I'm not used to boyfriends who respect me. I've caught myself doing that a few times. It…does make it a little hard to tell when I'm having a genuine issue with you though."

"Well, I'd like to think if you had any of those we'd talk through them." David set his paperwork aside and fixed his full attention on his boyfriend. "Other than the closet…we're good, aren't we?"

They'd certainly pecked that one issue to death, and it seemed like they weren't getting anywhere, so once more Hartley resolved to leave it alone. But he was determined that they weren't getting to a one-year without addressing it in a way that satisfied _both_ of them. At the moment David was getting his way and Hartley just had to deal with it.

"Yeah, we're pretty good."

David's brow furrowed. "Pretty good?"

Hartley shrugged. "I don't think it's actually a big deal, but…I'm getting kind of bored with vanilla sex. I…I figured that was petty though. Like, not something to risk an actual confrontation over. Because having sex with you isn't bad. It's not-it's good, I promise. I just…fuck. I dug a hole, didn't I?" Shit. One thing Hartley knew perfectly well from experience; expressing dissatisfaction with your sex life was a surefire way to piss off your boyfriend.

"Hartley, calm down." David got up and walked over to him. He gently placed his hands on Hartley's shoulders, more resting them there until Hartley got the nerve to look up at him. To his immense relief, he was smiling. "If you're ready to be spanked, I can certainly oblige you."

How did he keep forgetting how different David was from his exes? Hartley let out a relieved smile while David dropped a kiss by his temple.

"Oh fuck yes, please. How dom do you want to go? Because I could go for you being really, really dom."

David sat down next to him, wearing a characteristically serious expression. "We should have a detailed discussion about that."

Hartley pouted at him. "Everything's weeks of research and measured discussion and prudence with you."

"Hartley, I'm not winging kinky sex with you considering your propensity for panic attacks. But…I suppose we can do a little play tonight and have the detailed discussion in the morning."

"Yes!" Hartley jumped to his feet, snagged David's hand, and tugged him into the bedroom.

* * *

Hartley might have completely forgotten about checking in with Len about the Rogues, but his former leader and still kind of friend hadn't forgotten about him.

In fact, Len was bitterly regretting Piper's departure. He wasn't able to put his finger on exactly how, but the dynamic in the Rogues had been off ever since and he didn't know how to fix it. He knew the guys didn't respect him the same way they used to, but far from fixing it he seemed to be making it worse. He was being a jack ass to Sam about dating Lisa, which was the opposite of what he wanted to do but he couldn't seem to help himself. He didn't like the fact that one of his coworkers was fucking his baby sister. It was weird.

But he shouldn't bring it up at work.

He knew the guys didn't respect him anymore. Not only that, but their numbers were starting to drop off. Axel was in and out, running with his gearhead buddies half the time (not that any of them had had illusions about the reliability of the Trickster). Digger didn't last much longer. His jitters around the cold guns never went away, and he was clearly sick of taking orders from Len. Then Marco left to take care of some family business in Guatemala, leaving just him, Sam, and Mick.

The Rogues needed something to give them an edge again, something to keep them going. Otherwise they were just going to fall apart. He wanted to talk to Piper and get his take on things. The kid might not actively be in the game anymore, but he'd always had a good head on his shoulders and it probably wouldn't hurt to talk things over with him.

Len went over to the cop-scientist's house in Central, figuring that would still be the likeliest place to find Hartley. He hung around outside for a little while, just keeping an eye on the building, and waited for the scientist to go to work.

Oddly enough, it was Mick of all people who realized Piper was dating a cop. He said something about the way they looked at each other clued him in, plus he'd seen Hartley writing love notes shortly before he'd gone legit. When Mick told him about it, Len told him to keep it to himself. Much to Cold's annoyance, the other guys all seemed to know Hartley was involved with a cop, but thankfully they didn't know which one. Len didn't like to think about what a bunch of supervillains might do to the guy if they had a few too many. Cops weren't very popular in their circle.

Len had his own personal reasons beyond the supervillainy for disliking cops. Petty, power abusing assholes didn't make the best boyfriends in the world, as far as he was concerned, and Hartley did a pretty shitty job picking out his boyfriends. After Mick told him about it, Len spent a couple of weeks keeping tabs on Singh to make sure he was treating Hartley right. If the pig ever stepped out of line he was going to get personally acquainted with the workings of an absolute zero gun, but until then he was under Cold's protection.

Involuntarily, Len's lip curled into a snarl when he caught sight of assistant director Singh leaving his building. Hartley could call him a scientist all he wanted but the asshole worked for the Central City PD: he was a fucking cop.

From what he'd gathered during the couple of weeks he'd tailed Singh, the guy usually kept a clockwork schedule. He always left for work exactly on time, impeccably dressed, and copping an attitude. This morning he looked a bit distant and he was a good fifteen minutes late. Before Len could even begin to piece that together, Hartley came running out of the building and chased after his boyfriend with a manila folder in his hand.

It had been months since Len had seen the kid in person. He almost didn't recognize him. Not that Hartley looked all that different, not really…but there was something changed about him. Really, it was pretty bizarre to see him smiling.

Hartley easily caught up to Singh, all sunshine and rainbows as he handed off the folder. Singh stuffed it into his briefcase and appeared to be thanking his boyfriend profusely for bringing it downstairs to him. Len couldn't hear what they were saying, but he saw the way Singh checked the street to see if anyone was watching (missing Len entirely, but he'd picked his spot carefully) before giving Hartley a quick kiss.

Hartley stood on the front stoop of the building until Singh was out of sight, looking so damn happy the whole time that Len changed his mind about burdening the kid with his problems. Much as he wanted Hartley's ear on this, he couldn't intrude on the guy's life when things were actually going good for once. The kid was out. He needed to respect that.

He'd figure out what to do about Elias' offer to the Rogues on his own.

* * *

_A/N: Sorry for the delay. Had some stuff going on in RL. I'm going to attempt to be timelier with future updates. Thanks for sticking with me!  
_


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